Is there a priy head, or am I just hungover?

  Paul had a rough night and some strange dreams. He had stayed out clubbing till three in the m and acc to his at, had spent four thousand dolrs at bars, strip clubs, and ATMs. There was no one else in his bed, but he had dreamed of two of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He didn’t think he could have made them up. He wasn’t that creative.

  What he was, at least, was rich. He traveled all over the try helping criminals hide their money, which tely meant a lot of crypto wallets and trying to expin the differeween Bit and Moo people who knew how to manage criminal works like magic but had never passed a math css. Some trips were covered by his day job, supervising the west coast ats unit at a rge insuranpany. He paid his mahree grand a month to fudge the productivity reports and generally make him invisible to ma. He undered his money in the usual ways and had retly made a forturading options in an insane bull market. Life was good.

  One of his favorite things about his life was staying up all night, which also meant sleeping in. Most days, this wasn’t a problem. He would get up around one, make it to the office after three (already clocked in si). However, it was only nine o’ clod he was wide awake. His phone was ringing for the sed time, buried in his clothes on the floor halfway across the room and he kicked two bottles getting to it.

  “Hello, Paul?”

  He nearly threw it into the wall. It was his therapist. He had weekly sessions about a suicide attempt he only half-remembered. Acc to the police report, he had tried to drive his car off a bridge and only mao get it stu a curb. He usually got really fucked up before he went, but had just skipped the st two. He figured that since he didn’t remember them anyway, there wouldn’t be any harm in not going at all. His therapist disagreed.

  “Paul, I have you down for hirty today. Do you remember when we agreed on that time? You rescheduled twice before, and you assured me this time would work for you. I tried to call you three times st night.”

  So that’s who was blowing up his phone in the champagne room.

  “I’m not going to be able to make it. I got to go to work.”

  “I thought you didn’t go in until the afternoon. Isn’t that the arra?”

  Paul pulled the phone away from his fad gawked at it. How much had he told this dude?

  “Uh, no, what? I just 't make it. Look, I'm doier, I just—”

  “Paul, the court mahat you attend our sessions. If you don’t show up today, I'll have to report it.”

  Shit. He could probably pay him off. But why hadn't he dohat before? Had he tried? He couldn’t remember.

  “All right, fine. you give me a couple of hours? I just got up.”

  “I will see you at ten. I’ll have breakfast brought to my office, so don’t worry about eating beforehand. Please expect to stay until eleven. Goodbye.”

  He hung up! Paul sidered having him dissolved in a barrel somewhere, but something told him he had to go to this session or the heat was going to e down on him hard. He decided just to pop something and head out, but found the pletely drug-free, nothing but thin amber slivers left itles.

  He passed out in the back of the Uber on the way and dreamed of a room with no doors. When he screamed, his voice echoed back as a ugh.

  His therapist’s office was half a bck gss tower downtown, in a hooked hallway between a hedge fund and a fintech startup. The breakfast spread came from a five-star kit at the top and almost made it all worth it. He gave his therapist, Andler, a sored summary of his st few weeks while he fiwo ptes. Afterward, Andler asked him something he asked every session, or at least the ones Paul remembered. It had never seemed weird before. It did today.

  “Any strange dreams tely?”

  “No.”

  “None?”

  “I never dream.”

  “Everyone dreams, Paul. Every night. You just might not remember them.” The office was small and minimally furnished, but what was there screamed money. Andler was sitting in a love seat across the coffee table. Paul was sunk into a big leather couch he always struggled not to fall asleep in during their sessions, sipping e juid praying for vodka.

  “Then I don’t remember them.”

  “Paul, you’re sober today for once, which I appreciate, but you usually don’t have any problems talking about your dreams. That tells me you want to, but you think you he drugs to get up the ce to do so.”

  Paul didn’t remember ever telling him about his dreams. Looking back, he could remember being asked, but had no idea what he had said.

  “So, you analyze dreams? I thought that was outdated.”

  “I don’t analyze them in the Freudian sense, no. However, they be useful for you to talk about.”

  “Like, what I say I feel about my dreams is more important than what you think they symbolize?”

  “You could say that.”

  Paul ate more of the ses and drank some coffee. He watched the river glitter behind the downtown skyli the massive floor-to-ceiling window and wondered if any patients ever tried to throw themselves out of it.

  “Paul, you really 't recall any of your dreams? You told me st month you would try to remember as many as you could.”

  Andler moved his papers around in his folder. Paul hated it. Despite his efforts, there was more of him in those pages than on this side of the coffee table. Maybe ing here high had been a bad idea.

  “It was one of oals, the first one. ‘I will try to remember my dreams. I think they are important. That’s what you wrht here.”

  Andler showed him the paper with his handwriting. Paul didn’t remember writing it. He looked at it like he was giving it serious thought and imagined some maniac throwing Ahrough the window.

  “We talked about lucid dreaming, how a friend told you about it and you felt it would be helpful to you.”

  Paul smiled and nodded. His friend had said “Bruh, you fuy girl you want, any way you want when you go lucid. I fuck porn stars two at a time every night”. It had sounded legit.

  “Do you remember any of your dreams this week?”

  Paul thought about the two girls from st night, which was easy as he had been thinking about them off and on all m, and decided it would be funny to see Andler’s rea. He couldn’t imagihe guy even discussing sex. If those two girls showed up at Andler’s house, he’d probably make them tea and ask them about their dads.

  “Well, st night I dreamed about two girls, the hottest girls I've ever seen, I mean ever. I don’t know how my mind did it. I'm not creative enough to e up with girls that hot, you know?”

  Andler’s rea was not aul had expected. He got very still and seemed to be waiting for Paul to give some grand fession.

  “What did these girls want from you?”

  Paul ughed and spilled his coffee.

  “Are you a robot, Andler?”

  Andler didn’t ugh, and something in his not ughing killed Paul's ughter. Was he analyzing his dreams for real?

  “Did they ask you anything?” Andler said.

  “Uh, yea, you know, normal girl shit. Where I worked, how much I made, what I do for fun.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I don’t know why, but I told them about my job, that I worked for an insuranpany. It was weird but, they seemed really ied. Like they thought it was cool that I worked there. What's that mean?”

  Aook a moment to snap out of whatever thoughts he was having.

  “It could be a sign that you want to be that person, to take pride in your job. The idea of someone liking you for that seems to be something you want. What else did they ask you?”

  “Uh, where the good clubs were, stuff about the city. I think they were from out of town. What does that mean?”

  “What else did they ask you?” Paul usually took no shit from anyone, and by all rights he should have baded Andler for his tone alone, not to mention ign his question, but something had e over him and he couldn’t even sider doing anything besides answering truthfully.

  “They asked me where I would be tomorrow. I mean today. They wao see me again.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Sorry.” Paul couldn’t remember the st time he had apologized to anyone.

  Andler sat bad sighed.

  “Well, I want you to think about what you think that dream means and tell me about it session. And try to remember any other dreams you have. We talked about dream journals a few sessions ago. I suggest you try your best to write in yours regurly.” There ause.

  “Are we done?” Paul asked. It had only been half an hour.

  “Yes.” Andler didn’t offer any other expnation, and Paul remembered he didn’t want to be there anyway, so he got up a.

  When he was gone, Aook out his phone.

  “He just left. Someorying to get to him. No. I don’t know. Two girls, it seems. Got his P.O.E. Uood. No. Well, call me if they do so, and I’ll get him up.”

  He hung up a behind the desk, pulled the carpet up, and opened a floor safe. He took out a Beretta Px4 with a grip, a pouch of three magazines and some car keys, then grabbed his other keys off the desk a out the door.