. >> my heart pounds as i ran through the twisted street in the ancient alleys but harbert dissident in the dark corner and in the basement. the golden afternoon dresses the crumbling building with its warm fingers but i don't have time to appreciate it. it is gaining on me. our footstep echoes on fell cobblestone street like gunshots as i turn a corner running hard i looked quickly over my shoulder. i saw the brutality in his cold play is, the sweat running into his famous mustache and the image of the face in the mural that i suddenly find myself smack up against with no route to escapes saddam hussein. just as the great dictator closes in on me, i'd drift out of the dream and i try to sit up, but the belt fastened tight around my body holds me down in filthy sheets. i am in a disheveled bed in a makeshift bedroom and a gallery in chicago and instead of the gentle golden light of ancient brick i am surrounded by the walls, 1,000 first paint balls. the bang, bang, bang in my dream continues. it is the sound of the people gone. it is fortunate i had the foresight to restrain myself w