After a long day of traveling and an evening of playing at the club into the wee hours, I didn't have much trouble getting to sleep when I got back to the hotel. Moments after my head hit the pillow, I was off into a welcome unconsciousness…

Now I've always been a daydreamer, fantasizing about all kinds of things, but I've never been one could wake up in the morning and remember the details of the dreams that happened during deep sleep the night before.

This morning was no exception. I got up, showered, and got dressed as usual, then walked down to the hotel coffee shop. Monique was already hard at work, servin' up breakfast to a counter full of customers.

I found myself an empty stool and she rushed right over with a hot cup of java. "Morning, Doc" she said, batting her pretty lashes at me and smiling, forgetting for now the twilight zone tale she'd weaved for me the night before.

Monique's description of the events of her dream had created vivid images for me that kept playing over and over again in my head like a movie. I wondered now if I did have a dream last night, only it was exactly the same one as Monique's.

I had a queezy feeling in my stomach, and it wasn't coming from the bitter cup of coffee that the Metro was famous for.

I started to remember other things -- images just started to pop into my head, -- a mailbox with a name on it, a barking dog, a street sign. I couldn't block them out. This was getting too weird.

If the New England man with the bright red eyes was determined to get into my head, I wasn't going to make it easy for him. I had to be on my guard, block him out at all times, never leave a door open.

I ordered some pancakes and a side of bacon, bought a newspaper, and looked through the help wanted section. Funds were beginning to run low, and I might have to find another means of employment. The thought repulsed me.

I'd gone back and forth so many times between playing music for a living and holding down quote-unquote-real jobs. I didn't want to give up on the music again. My new songs were good -- better than anything I'd written before -- there were some hits in thar' hills.

Now was the time to go for it. There was no turning back.

I flipped the page of the paper, and there it was -- a quarter page. black and white advertisement for the new Tequila Banditos album. It listed some upcoming concert dates -- El Whoppo and the boys would be touring through Texas the next week. I'd try and hook up with them as soon as I got back from Vegas. I needed money and a steady gig with my old band would be a welcome development.

I finished up my food, paid Monique at the register, walked outside, and took a look around. There wasn't much to keep you occupied in the sleepy little town of Centerville, Texas. The strip on Main Street with the hotel, movie theatre, drug store, pizza joint, grocery, video rental place, liquor store, and barber shop -- and Mickey's tavern on the outskirts of town to provide some entertainment.

The bus station was no more than a bench and a ticket booth set up near the gas station. I carried my bags there and waited for my ride into the Nevada desert.