I ask when he has peace. “Walking the dog,” he says. “Until Rosie started acting out. That used to be peaceful.” I think about how he doesn’t want to bring the dream into this room. Could it be that this room has become something of a sanctuary for him, away from his job, wife, kids, dog, the world’s idiots, and the ghost of his mom that appears in his sleep? “Hey, John,” I try. “Are you feeling
