I've dreamed some more dreams lately, but alas, I can't recall even the first detail of any one of them. I know though that I've dreamed. Trying to remember a dream is like trying to remember a forgotten name, it recedes faster with every increase in concentration -- perhaps that's the force behind the universe expanding. Maybe it's God trying to remember where He put things. Could I remember one, I promise you I would recount it here in all it's incoherence for your wonder and edification. But as per usual, of late life's been throwing me only the dregs, nothing but dull, stale, flat and dourly uninteresting reality. My life consists of leaking joints, sticking valves, worn out diaphragms and shorted motor windings. Customers bitch at me. "Hey, don't blame me," I snap back at them, "I didn't buy this piece of shit, you did. Now you'll just have to suck up my repair bills." Yes, Virginia, there is poetic justice in the world. Sometimes the poor do get to stick it to the rich. But precious seldom. Precious seldom. Mike Geary Memphis