I got a call from Clover earlier today.  Some guy that comes into the bar every once in a while, usally with Michigan was shot in a gas station robbery last night.

I didn't get why she was calling me until I saw the news report later.

That guy, Charlie Bunk, was the dude from my dream.

They showed the security camera footage and there he fucking was in grainy black and white.  Huddled against the chips and tic tacs to the immediate right of the door was a small dude fumbling in his pockets.

After thirty seconds or so, I walk in.

What in the name of puberty Christ?

Last night I was in West Virginia.  The television is reporting Murder in Lebanaon, PA.  That's like 250 miles away.  Check for yourself.

I watch myself on tv and I look into the security camera square.  After a beat I turn and brush my hand against Charlie Bunk's jacket.  I exit and a minute later Bunk draws on the clerk who got to a shotgun quicker.

Bunk is shot dead from a slug to the heart.

That's it, I'm off the Nyquil.