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Matthews watched the fog overtake London, wrapping it in a thick, soft blanket of grey and swirling white. As he stood at the window, he took a sip of his tea, grimaced at it's lack of heat, at it's definite coolness, and then sighed. He had waited too long to drink it, had stood at the panes of glass, looking out, day dreaming. He moved away from the window, walking slowly toward the sink.

****** ["MR. SANDMAN...BRING ME A DREAM..."] *******

John Matthews groaned to himself, oh, no, not that again!

****** ["MAKE HIM THE CUTEST THAT I'VE EVER SEEN..."] *******
The woman next door belonged to a trio that fancied itself a great singing group. They had fallen in love with the songs of the fifties and had entered a contest, so of course, they had to practice their entry song...over...and over...and over...and...
The only trouble was, Matthews was beginning to sing that song in the shower, on the way to work. It played repeatedly in his brain, morning and night, becoming a vexation to his soul. Sometimes, he even awoke in the middle of the night and those words were there, serenading him until he thought he would scream.

****** ["MR. SANDMAN...I'M SO ALONE....I'VE GOT NOBODY TO CALL MY OWN..."] ******

Desolation surged through John Matthews. There was no one special in his life...he was all alone. That blasted song had brought it to the surface, forced him to look at the truth. He didn't like that, didn't like it at all.

CURSE THAT SONG!

He slammed the cup into the tiny sink. It broke, splintering into fragments of white and red. He swallowed the profanity that lingered at the back of his throat and slowly removed the pieces of china.

****** ["MAKE HIM THE CUTEST THAT I'VE EVER SEEN..."] ******

Cute? Matthews thought as he stood frozen, staring blindly down at the shards in his hand. A vision of the man he could love lingered hauntingly at the back of his mind. Shaking the image away, he finished removing the segments of cup from the sink.

****** ["PLEASE TURN ON YOUR MAGIC BEAM....MR. SANDMAN, BRING US A DREAM!"] ******

A dream? Matthews thought as he chucked the broken cup into the garbage. What good is a dream? Giving up, he went to take a shower, but even under the water, that song tormented him:

****** ["MR. SANDMAN..."] *****

Matthews wanted to yell, shut up! He wanted to bang on the wall and tell them to turn that stupid music down, but he didn't. He was going to work anyway. Seething, he finished his shower and dressed. Cowley awaited.
That song went with him, riding at the back of his mind, waiting...waiting...

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