SLEEP, is where we hide from the answers of the questions unasked, when we aren't occupied any more with newspapers, music, phone calls and quick, almost afterthought—like 'I Love You', 'Thinking of you' and those little guilt—trip things we ride so well, even hide from ourselves at times. The self—induced waking hour other—reality we so effortlessly create and sustain with diets, messages, phone calls, gymming, and the need to be surrounded by familiar people and equally familiar sounds. All as a distraction from the midnight hour that patiently waits. We prefer the illusion of daylight. This, is the obscured version of reality we can easier manage, even stretch, between coffee, breakfast and career, and later, we'll all go hide on the 'other' side of those locked doors. With 'every' curtain drawn. All these things may flash before our eyes in fast—forward mode, during those last few seconds, as the book is finally closed on, "is hell here, or there...?" "Hey, good evening, or rather, good morning! What are you doing outside? Did you hear that too?" "I did, what do you think it was? " "Beats me..." "Look over there!" "Where?" "How does it feel?" "You... stabbed... you just stabbed me! "What..." "You stabbed my in the neck!?" "Yes. Yes I... I suppose I did." A policeman called for backup over the radio, paused and called again. With a slight dash of arrogance, Robert wasn't convinced satisfactorily that his duties demanded backup, but it became a rule recently.