Eni Nurkollari is by my side. His hand is under my arm. We are walking uphill, toward my house. It is dark, but I can see well enough. I know my way by heart, anyhow. My front teeth are in my pocket. I can feel them whenever I wish to reach for them. To check. To reassure myself in my stupor. Eni is consoling me, but it is like a dream. Somehow, I fell as I played the horn, the greatest game of them all. At least in Motovun, the center of the world. I am walking up the steep hill. Eni is by my side, talking. Consoling me. The dream feels a bit too real to be true. Indeed, I can feel my teeth in my pocket. They are solid. Real. As real as teeth can ever get. The dream is fading as I am walking. And as Eni keeps talking. Consoling me to the best of his ability. Telling me that all will be well. I am at the front door of my house at last, and Eni is telling me to call him if I need any help. The teeth in my pocket tell me he is for real, too. The horn. Motovun. This evening. Somehow I fell. Some silly hole in the road tripped me. The darkness. As I was playing, I just stumbled. Tumbled headlong. Found myself prostrate. And remained lying on the road. Unconscious for a short while. But all is well now. The dream is real, as real as dreams can ever get. My front teeth are still in my pocket. All is well. The teeth are still in one piece. Safe and sound. And Eni is waving goodbye. I promise to call if I need anything at all. All is well, indeed.