I was trying to help my mother who had inherited a publishing business (for a magazine or a newspaper) which she was trying to run, but which was overwhelming her. I hadn't been there for almost a month; but early this morning I had arrived there at the office and I was now planning to talk with some of the employees about the business so I could better grasp the problems.

As I began talking with one employee, I regretted that I had left home so quickly: I hadn't dressed. I had a blanket wrapped around me, under which I was completely nude. Why did I always come to work naked? I had established this habit long ago; but, I now realized coming to work with simply a cover was entirely inappropriate. It seemed to me that at one time other people had also come to work naked, and that nudity had been acceptable. Now, however, everyone was dressed. Even Jerry Seinfeld (who worked for my mother and who was walking around the office) was dressed in blue jeans and a button-down shirt. Why could I not be like the others? In consternation I looked under my cover. What? What a relief! I was dressed! I had on pants and a shirt, entirely appropriate. I threw off my cover and with relief continued talking to the employees.

I looked for my mother through the door of the next room. I spotted her purse on the floor under a table, and then saw her sitting behind someone else who was partially blocking my view. My mother didn't look like herself. She seemed small, thin and weak. Clearly this business was too much for her to handle. I had talked with her previously about the possibility of selling the business. She didn't seem quite ready to sell; but obviously something had to be done. Consequently, I was there today. I had been told a meeting with her lawyer was scheduled for later in the day. I had never met the lawyer, but I knew I needed to do so. However, I wanted to be prepared; I needed to learn so much yet. I still had no idea how much the business was worth; I would need to go over the books and try to understand the accounting.

After I had finished my interview with one employee, another one walked up and sat down across from me. He was a tall thin moustached man (probably in his late 30s). He told me that his name was "Library" and that he worked in the company's medical department. I wondered, was he a doctor? No, I didn't think so; probably a nurse. Why, however, would we need a medical department? The company only had 18 employees. A medical department seemed to be a total waste of money. I quickly learned that the so-called medical department was actually only one room, and that Library only worked part time. His only interest seemed to be in obtaining a refrigerator for the room in which he worked. He seemed like an utterly superfluous fellow and I quickly ended his interview.

I stood and walked out into the white hallway. When I heard the heavy sound of footsteps approaching, I erectly remembered what I had forgotten: I was being pursued. Every day, a being who resembled the comic-book character Thor – god of Thunder – chased me. At night, the blond-haired demi-god would sleep, and I was able escape his torment. Every morning, however, the muscled warrior would take up his menacing pursuit, and I must flee.

As I hurried through the corridor I picked up an electric drill in one hand and in the other hand I held a small drill bit used for drilling in Phillips-head screws. In previous encounters with the demi-god, I had successfully used the drill to fend him off: I would drill a small screw into him, and his assault would be temporarily halted. This morning, however, I faced a problem: I needed an extension cord, and none was to be found. I hurried through the halls, frantically searching for an extension cord. Finally, I reached an exit door and stepped outside onto a city street.

Where could I flee? I ran down the busy city street. The demi-god had also exited the building. I could see him, about a block behind me, headed toward me (like a scene from the movie Terminator). Some semi-trucks were passing. My mind ran ahead of me. I could jump on one of the semis. Of course my pursuer would also jump on one and continue chasing me. How could I ever escape or defeat him? I had once talked with an elderly man about the demi-god's seeming invulnerability. The man had told me that although the demi-god had been injured many times, all his injuries had amounted to no more than the loss of the tip of the demi-god's little finger.

I could only think of one thing which could stop the unrelenting pursuer: an atomic bomb. Where, however, could such a bomb be safely detonated? Mars! If somehow I could reach Mars, I could safely detonate a nuclear bomb there and destroy this demon; but how could I possibly reach Mars?

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