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I slept for fourteen and a half hours and awoke from the oddest dream. Domenico and Amanda were telling me about a new store in Urbana called Dry Fruits and Meats, and it apparently was run by refugees from Corkscrew. They were having a cognac and gin tasting, and I was going to go after my big test on something like medieval literature, except try as they did to clue me in, I had no idea where in Urbana it was. Then we were watching an old movie about naming streets in Urbana after historic figures, and I realized it had to be from the early eighties instead of the late sixties because I recognized all the Matchbox cars. Then someone said Jesse Jackson was killing us, and I woke up.