Spoiler alert: he dies in the end
I woke with a start. I knew I couldn't go back to sleep. It was 5 a.m., and my heart was pounding because the dreams were so real, because I was at my own funeral, and wasn't it ironic, man? There I was, walking, trying not to get hit by cars when I crossed the road, amazed by all the people who I knew and didn't know who wanted to see me put in the ground. The truth is, I feel like that most days. Like I died so long ago, left myself in the dirt somewhere. Where? My boyhood home? That night I didn't kiss the girl? The night I kissed the wrong girl? The night she cried in her underwear on the dining room floor and it was so cold? Maybe when I left her behind in that place, when I drove those lonely miles to start a new life? When she told me with the devil in her eyes that she would kill me if I left her? Every day is another step closer to that day they put me in the ground. Why is it so important that people are there to see it when I'm not even there...