I don’t like his soul patch, but otherwise he looks fantastic.“My God,” I say, “you haven’t changed a bit.”He laughs and says, “You have no idea.” He looks around to make sure no one’s watching and lifts his leather jacket to show me a gun in a shoulder holster. “This has been a lifesaver. Thank you.”I’m trying to figure out if he’s being sarcastic when a cab screeches to a stop right beside us, and I notice that it’s gray, not yellow. In fact, nothing—the sky, the sunlight, the buildings, Chuck’s face, my hands and blouse—is in color. Everything’s in black and white. Only then do I notice that the sidewalk and street are flowing with raw sewage.Alex jumps out of the taxi. “Black and shite, you mean,” he says. Then he says, or sort of sings, “Ding dong, the bitch is dead, the bitch is dead!”That’s the last of the dream I remember when I open my eyes and see Clarence Darrow on my pillow, staring at me, his face inches from mine. “Hello, cat,”
