The next night, I was dead and in the afterworld. I had a sort of tour guide who was giving me an orientation. He was not quite St. Peter and not quite Virgil. In fact, I think he may have been Clarence, the angel from It's a Wonderful Life, except that he was in color and didn't smile quite as much, if at all. He had on a three piece suit with a pen striped vest, and he had a gold watch on the end of a fob, which I seem to recall him checking from time to time. I think, perhaps, he had other orientations to get to. He also wiped his spectacles periodically with his handkerchief. They were thick and square, like Ben Franklin's, with shepherd-hook shaped ends to keep them on his ears. He told me I was in hell, though it didn't look so bad. The grass was green, even if it was a bit overgrown and sprouting patches of crabgrass. There were trees. The sun was shining. I think I even heard birds chirping in the distance. It was temperate and springy, though I would not have wanted to be in a three piece suit. What's heaven like? I asked him. He said, That's heaven right over there. He pointed to a small, black, chain link fence, over which dense foliage grew farther than could be climbed. But when I stooped down, I could see the grounds clearly enough. It looked just like hell--nice, but a bit unkempt. I didn't see any people on either side. I'm not sure if I was given a choice or if I was just waiting to decide or if I was stuck there in hell, but for whatever reason, I was there for the time being. Then I was in a house that had been assigned to me. It was an old, red, somewhat dilapidated, but still charming Victorian a few yards away from the center of hell. The center had an old roundabout with a big oak in the middle. Kids rode bikes and soapbox scooters and seventies roller skates around it. Anyhow, inside the house, I was meeting my new housemates. There was a skinny, crank head looking girl with greasy long hair wearing a somewhat ragged kimono. I think she had just woken up, and it was probably afternoon, if there was any time there at all. She opened an old, round-topped Frigidaire that was packed with the foodstuffs of five or so people and pulled out a turkey leg. She was talking to another hipstress sort of girl who had her died black bob in pony tails; this gal was wearing black jeans and a black shirt, and she had black cateye specs. She smiled a lot as they laughed and gossiped about the irony of their afterlives, not taking particular notice of me. I think that they may have said hey or something after some kind of perfunctory introduction. So I just eavesdropped a bit, but not really illicitly, since I was standing right there. Did you hear what happened to Bob? The skinny crank girl said. Yeah, what a bummer; so sad. I don't quite recall the precise dialogue, but it became apparent to me that one of their friends had died. So I interrupted, You can die here? Yeah, the crank girl said, This life is just like the last one except you remember everything from before and there's not a damn thing you can do to change it. She laughed ironically. I was having an epiphany and concluded that this must mean that if I died again, I would go to another place a lot like this one--something I hadn't thought my Dantesque housemates had caught onto yet. I remember thinking that I would have to write about it; maybe I could even get it made into a movie, if there were any movies in hell. But still, I had questions. Clearly, there was eating and dying here, but what of more important subjects? Can you still have sex? I asked the crank headed chick--not wantonly or suggestively, just matter-of-factly, genuinely curious. Just then, a beefy Asian guy with tattoos and a black muscle shirt came in the door (presumably my other housemate). He smiled and corralled the girls with his arms and gave a frat boy bellow: It's all we ever do! Then he pulled me into what was bound to become an orgiastic circle. I remembered feeling reticent but resigned. Nothing really mattered because I was already dead. There was no one to be unfaithful to here. I was in hell. Conveniently, the dream then segued to me walking about the town circle with the aforementioned, Norman Rockwellesque kids playing by the old oak tree. Hey mister, a redheaded boy with glasses lisped, You wanna see the way into heaven? I already saw it through the fence, I said. It looked just like this. You believe that? He asked rhetorically. I mean the real heaven, mister. Again, I had an epiphany: This is all hell; they just want me to think it doesn't get any better than this so I won't try to get into heaven. The kids, two boys and a girl, took me to a well with a cover on it. Now that I think of it, the cover made the well resemble an urn. The redheaded boy lifted the lid and told me to look down; that was the way into heaven. I looked down and saw white, well-lit tile with water streaming down to the bottom. At the bottom, I saw light coming from the opening of a tunnel that went back in the direction of the old oak tree in the center of hell. The redheaded kid encouraged me to go down and see for myself. I protested that the opening, about the diamater of a coffee can, was far too narrow for my fat ass to squeeze down. He then lifted what I saw was the rest of the cover, leaving about a three-foot diameter hole and a clear view to the bottom. I contemplated for a moment as I watched the water trickle down to the concrete bottom. Surely, the fall would kill me, but I wasn't really afraid of that anymore, now, was I? Then, boxes packed for moving were at the lip of the well, and one or two of them tipped and fell in. It was silverware and cutlery mostly, and I recognized two very sharp and long chef's knives as they twirled to the bottom. Now I had the fear of being impaled as well, but I wasn't really afraid of that either. Or was I? Another box or two fell, and I thought they might protect me from the knives. I stayed there at the lip of the well for a long time, working up the courage to descend, watching the water drip down to the light coming from the underground tunnel. Then, before I could do it, Amy woke me up and brought me back to the land of the living. It was morning and a brand new day.