Glen woke up to the noise of crows cawing. He looked out the window towards the bunch of oak trees. "This must be a omen," he thought. He was surprised by himself because he couldn't decide whether the omen was good or bad.

While taking the shower he wondered if the crows were a real omen. Maggie had been up. Glen had been thinking of excuses.

"Slept well last night?" Maggie politely asked handing him a cup of coffee.

"Yes. Did you have a good night's sleep?" The coffee tasted like molten, burnt cactus.

"No, I didn't… are you going to ask me why?"

"Why?" asked Glen popping two cubes of sugar into the coffee.

"What has happened to you, Glen? You sound so vague. Where is my Glen? Are you planning to go the Bertha way?" Maggie wanted to go on talking but she halted. This was unfamiliar territory.

Glen drank whole of the burnt, molten cactus and looked at Maggie. "I'm sorry, Maggie. Nothing I'm doing I intend to do to hurt you. I think it's the damned Diazepam that I've been swallowing all along." He kept the cup down. He thought about kissing her, but shrugged and went towards his wardrobe.

"Diazepam. Fucking Valium. Stop it. I don't think you need it now." Maggie argued, pleaded and cursed at the same time.

"I'll. I'm meeting the doctor today," said Glen putting on his jacket.

"You've to rest. I'll accompany you in the afternoon, it's too cold out there now," reasoned Maggie.

"I also better take a look at the bookshop," was all the excuse Glen could offer her.

'13 North Wayhire Street.'

The neighborhood seemed peculiar. Graffiti adorned its walls. Glen found one of the Lizard King. It was the most beautiful rendering of the Lizard King he had seen. There was Jesus, with a guitar to hide his holy groin, no loins.

Glen found the place. It wasn't painted but splattered with paint. The door was made of metal, painted gold. A section of the lawn was being used for growing weed. Glen stopped and looked around. It was still early, no one was out of their homes.

A peeling board near the lawn warned 'Beware of the God.' Glen checked the address again. Yup, this was where the nurse told him his Savior lived.

There wasn't any bell visible, so he knocked. He got no answer. And so he knocked again. Still there was no response. He patted this time. Then he patted again. The last one was a kick. Something fell on the other side of the door. A loud crash. It was glass feared Glen.

Glen stood in silence for some time hoping that now the Paramedic would surely come. He came. Same green hair and pink whiskers.

The Queer was the Paramedic. The dreaded dream was real.
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