I shoot heroin into my arm multiple times, but don’t feel its effects. Despite being immune to its bliss, I somehow know my immunity, is itself, a kind of feeling—as if a shield had shattered and now coursed through me, protecting my blood. I am strong, sexual, coolly aloof. I unclasp my knees, unfurl like a dancer and look up at the sky. I count five full moons, but only the middle one gives back a reflection. The reflection is of a fair in Greece, and I know in only a short time it will pass away. I can barely see the people, I assume they can see me. Even reflected, their light is warm with swathes of indigo, navy blue and black. There are tents and a Ferris wheel and vendor’s carts painted all in Easter colors. I can tell the ocean is around them. Suddenly, I am joined by my dad and a couple of his nice students. Then I wake up.