It wasn't until late evening that I remembered the dream. I was in the low country, Charleston, somewhere near the Battery. A hurricane was coming in and it was too late to leave. We would have to ride this one out. The waters are rising, streets are disappearing and I'm terrified. Doesn't anyone understand we're all going to die? The water is coming in now. The incoming tide and the storm swell are filling the first floor with salty water and seaweed. And just when I can stand no more I suddenly find myself in a sort of mall. An antique dealer motions me to come over to him. He has an embroidered child's toy, a game of some sort where you must extract small plastic crickets from pockets. He says to me, 'You look like a discriminating individual.' I am amused and relieved. Because not only am I no one's idea of a "discriminating" individual, but now I'm sure it's a dream and I can wake up. The nightmare is over, no more rising water, no more storm, no more helplessness. There's just this desperate man trying to flatter me so he can make money. It's okay again.