6 MICHAEL TRIES TO WRITE AGAINOn returning to his room a couple of hours after dinner and talking to his wife on Skype, Michael had another sound night's sleep. He dreamed, but always enjoyed those whatever they brought him. Usually they were humorous, but never prophetic, or at least, he reasoned, he hadn't yet learned how to divine their meaning. He hoped that he would find a way one day, but it had never been a priority. He was just grateful that his dreams never bothered him.
At breakfast, as he had been told, those who wanted to, divulged their dreams, but it wasn't a formal part of breakfast.
He told how he had dreamed of a construction firm that bought concrete slabs with a self-drive machine to lift and lay them. They were selling the slabs and making money from renting out the m
