Ken and I were dorm roommates for two years. Even though compatible in everyway, we kept slightly different schedules. I would usually be in bed shortly after 11:00pm; Ken stayed up later. On several occasions, I would start talking in my sleep, and Ken would occasionally attempt to engage me in a conversation. Such was the case one evening toward the end of our first semester.
P: I’ll get up and go in a minute.
K: Where
P: Someplace to walk, not far.
K: Can I go?
P: Yeah, if you want to.
K: But where are you going?
P: Not far.
K: Well when are you going?
P: Soon as I put my eyes out.
K: Where are you going to put them?
P: In my pocket.
K: But you already have too many things in them.
P: Yeah, but I have enough room for them.
K: For what?
P: Story...
K: What story?
P: The Story of St. Augustine.
K: Oh, you wrote that already?
P: Not yet. It’s up here [points to head]
K: Oh.
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