"I'll handle it." Everything decays, time's effect on fast forward, and then up go the skyscrapers and stone streets of Manhattan. It's the 1930s, and war is coming again. War is always coming. The busy city gets on with its life.

Dorian rests his head on his chin and looks at Bruce. "You ought to leave Dreaming. It's really only suited for the innocent and the painfully nostalgic. I hope you are neither."