There was blood on my pillow. And a tooth on the floor. And a snake in the corner, coiled around the arc of the rocking chair. The snake I don't believe had anything to do with the tooth or the blood on the pillow, but if that cold blood hadn't clicked me from sleep, opening my eyes on the tooth on the floor, I might not have rolled my eyes to the corner where the snake hugged the rocking chair. It's an old chair and probably felt the dry ribs of hundreds of snakes around its legs. But never in a room with a tooth on the floor and blood on the pillow. It wasn't even my tooth. Or blood. Yeah, it was my pillow.