The following excerpts are from journal entries from the late 1990s-early 2000s.
Jasin and I came to New Orleans and stayed at the Sleep Inn Motel, off Gravier and Loyola (next to the downtown city library). For one week, we searched for an apartment to live in, and the first place we looked at ended up becoming our residence. We continued the search but eventually settled upon the original location.
1602 Adams Street, was a yellow row house, with red doors, across from an overgrown cemetery, which had an unusual infestation (even for New Orleans) of roaches (more on this later). The house was divided in half, the front belonging to a group of college students, and the back half being ours.
Cut scene, reverse, think back to the motel on Gravier.
The night before we left the Sleep Inn, I dreamed of going back to San Antonio to get our things. It was one of those dreams you think is waking life, but it turns out to be a false reality. I was shot in the back of the head in the vision and… I died. I remember passing. I felt the bullet go through me. I convulsed, my breath slowed, and I stopped. Fade to black.
My memory turns to a loud knocking in the darkness and a kind of thumping. Someone whispered my name in the nothingness. My eyes opened, and I was awake and alive, but I could still hear the knocking. It was coming from the ceiling. I glanced at the bed next to me, where Jasin slept. It could not have been him calling my name. But a heavy dread descended on me at that moment and never left in the months that followed.