"James," you said.
"I think this is a dream," I said. "Look around us."
We looked around us. What we saw, I forget. But I remember it filled us with a palpable sense of sadness and regret.
"This isn't a dream," you said. "We're trapped inside one of your stories. That's why we're depressed."
What came first? The chicken or the egg? Would we be inside one of my stories if we weren't already depressed?
"If I could be trapped inside any of our stories," I said. "I'd be the dog in Heartsease, at least then I'd know my misery would soon be coming to an end."