Last night I dreamt I brought back my deceased best friend to life because Peter Mansbridge was throwing a cool soda and sandwich combo out into the crowd like a wedding bouquet so of course I caught it but just before Phil and I believe he was upset but I needed it more so I entered the chalet and traversed the back room water pipes and while climbing I find a large and clean bolt like no grease but not particularly lustrous pretty dark so I keep moving dodging grunts and paint and striking competing newscasters in the back of the skulls with my bolt as they wage paintball wars and finally I make it to an RV where I see he and he not me and moving swiftly through the chalet and the shrinking parlours I come face to dimpled lower back with his murderess a drunken girl with an asthmatic attack in a bathing suit face down in the hot tub and Scott trying to turn her over but her throngs and needles suffusing the juice from his thick and powerful shoulder blades his Bottlecap glasses shucked from his brow to the bottom of the cold-cloth-to-the-forehead-warm kinda hot tub and then she cackles and takes flight and he just floats like a buoy like a knotted cloth of flesh wrapped sailor snug around a twice divorced and thrice orphaned buoy coasting in the middle of the Acheron so I throw my bolt in a long lazy arc and it strikes the witch into the war of paint and she's trampled until eyeballs zing under feet like candy sweet spilling and suddenly the war is over because there is no ground to take just opa-broke discs and squelching sprouts and it is a quiet celebration no sounds no shouts and I am just there wet up to waist trying to hug Scott's barrel chest to heave him from the frost-rendered surface of this burrow he's bobbing in and yet somehow we've also sat down to speak in my struggle and he hasn't said much he's just been grateful to see me wants me to say hi to his friends and some family and there's hot tea and wifi and I tell him I just came by to bring you lunch let's share a soda lets get our munch on but when I wake my back is pinched and hip torrent knotted and my waist is wet with sweat down and I realize he never drowned but I nearly did in trying to bring lunch to that god damn kid I miss you and I wish your passing wasn't some mystery I wish these paths and gods and the ilk of the vinyl and the stuttering slamming doors was clearer to me and I wish you were here with me, because a foot is too much sandwich for me here take a piece let's talk about anything.