I'm helping with a man who is dying. He is old and mostly incoherent, and his joints are turning blue. The doctor says something in German, and everybody looks around, confused, but I know the words and translate, something about his feet. At some point he mumbles a few incoherent words.

The family is having difficulty knowing what to do, like they have to make the final decision for him. I empathize, telling them it's especially difficult when every once in a while a few brain cells light up and stir.

Somebody calls on the phone and wishes to meet the family. I tell him that I judge from his voice that he is a young man about 11 or 12 years old, so he must be talking about those guys. Anyway he can meet us at the Golden Dragon (a Chinese restaurant in the dream, in real life a rather low-class strip bar in Portland) in about an hour.