.....And so the dream-catcher lay all alone, in the dead of the night, against the splashing waves of a dirty beach, he could smell the rubbish, the garbage, he could hear that chicken-head peeing in oblivion, whistling tunelessly, he could still hear the cars, the honking, the screaming, and he is suddenly caught, as Nietzsche was forever looking, in a single moment of "paralyzed fascination"-he yells "my soul seems to age faster than me. As my dreams run ahead and I lie awake trying to catch up with them. Sometimes I tire fast and am lulled into sleep that seems like eternity. Being grounded and holding on to reality becomes difficult until I hear about the tragedy of a close one. The tragedy of Maye, Sophie, Abba Haider, Mehjabine Bano and me and me."

The moment had come and gone, and in every rush, in thousands of stories, lives of others, the dream-catcher recognized that he had never heard silence, he had never felt it until only now.

Sophie was there, young, beautiful and like every other pretty thing. She did not speak too much and she was so loving. I was amused, surprised, jealous, superior all at once.

The lives of the above characters will meet and separate and meet as the Naughty Monkey and the Slow Walrus tell the tales.