Ripped from sleep by the falsity of men and thrown headlong into bloodhound investigation that leaves me dry-handed. Is my subconscious so bored that it must play the arsonist?

Her name was Katie or Kathy or of some similar taste, dyed strawberry blond and smiling.

...then again. That first half of my dream involved unearthing a corpse that just so happened to be alive after six months in the grave - still spongy and pink and looking like Tony himself.

I hate my brain.
I really do.