Last night was strange: full of restless sleep, perseverating thoughts and dark dreams. When I got to work there were whispers of a relapse, or maybe something worse. I had him stay close to me with his red-rimmed eyes, hollow cheeks and vacant stare, eagerly grateful for hot tea. He slept on the couch in the living room, his unrest eventually melting to stillness. I dreamed of past students, bloated and decaying of flesh, urgent with desperation and wild running horses. Thought-pancakes of stale playa dust flipped over in my mind, flat and insubstantial.