and imhotep stares at him with faraway eyes, possibly a word or 2 tripped him up, imhotep can't find his place in the series of events anymore, so valentin doesn't see the use and he stops to better understand where imhotep got lost—but it didn't matter, someone could believe him or they don't, nonetheless he's still living this life and there doesn't seem a way out of it, his hope is to keep talking, telling people, other people, and maybe then someone will respond in a way that makes sense, to find the missing puzzle pieces—so much is the same, maybe he retracks his life, the life he has here, to find the common ground between the 2 lives and then pick up where he left off—valentin says to imhotep, do you not understand what i'm saying?—imhotep says, everything makes more sense now, but you know it's all kind of far-fetched—of course, i would say the same thing, of course—and now i'm wondering who you are, or what i am, does this make me a bit part in your imagination, of your new world here?—valentin says, i've been going to sleep in hopes that I would wake up into my real life but i keep waking up here, so i think you're real—we'll see, then hit me bro—what?—imhotep says, in the arm, wherever, you don't have to break something or make me bleed but just hit me—valentin makes a fists in his right hand and whips his arm around, almost a half circle, he remembers in the middle of this motion that he has no idea how to hit anyone, and so he misses the intended target of imhotep's upper left arm and instead hits him on the side of the face, imhotep yelps and swears and puts his hand to his left cheek—valentin asks him if he's okay, imhotep keep swearing and he feels for broken parts or blood around his jaw, valentin inspects his fingers for damage—valentin says, sorry i meant to only hit your arm, you haven't known me as someone who couldn't hit air if i tried?—imhotep laughs, yeah i suppose i do, but i suppose to that i never had a reason to ask you to hit me, so i guess we're both real, we'll just assume, and so you say you're having an affair with your neighbor—yes, i think so, rene—you haven't told me that before—probably i swore it to secrecy for her, who knows—imhotep says, i think you've brought her up every once in a while in conversation, more than someone would normally mention a neighbor—valentin says, rene and this life don't really matter to me, you know another version of me, so i don't matter to you in my current form, i'm hoping that someone can help me figure out how to get back to my old life, whether i'm buried deep into my imagination or not—imhotep punches valentin in the arm, valentin feels the dig of imhotep's knuckle into his muscle, the wave of pain, he feels everything, just as if he were sitting with sandy doing this same thing, drinking beer and watching a game—imhotep is gripping his beer bottle tightly around the neck, twisting, he has a soft face, dark with some wrinkles, gray in his hair, valentin wonders if they'd gone out to clubs, dated women together, played some video games, or just spent time hanging around drinking—like with sandy, but sandy doesn't have a wife, sandy isn't old, he would never say anything like hit me in the arm, he couldn't stand the thought of pain that he knew was coming—neat piles of magazines surrounded imhotep's family room, better housekeeping, garden center, sports illustrated, newsweek—valentin picks up a sports illustrated on top of a pile, it says october 2018, with a photo of green bay packer clay matthews tackling a quarterback, about the controversy of what's a sack and what's a penalty—the house smells of something, as if something sweet and maybe a little rotten, it comes and goes, taking laps around the house—so it's 2018, in october, the time hasn't changed, the location and people have, football still is there, on the tv looks like the same players, same with the new jersey nets game they're watching, versus detroit pistons, the players he knows, jarrett allen, blake griffin, caris levert—so the world changes in some spots, it doesn't change in other spots, it seems an impossible puzzle—imhotep talks about a woman he had an affair with at one point, not being clear whether he was saying that he cheated on his wife, possibly she'll walk in at any moment, and he'll have to figure her out too, what past he's had with her, does she like him, does she kick it and grab a beer and watch a basketball game with them, does she wonder why he comes to the house all the time, jealous of him, and then what is valentin supposed to think of her—new people become so complicated, and they're coming at you all the time—so he thinks he needs to keep focus, he's not here to unravel this life and those memories, it's too much, but imhotep doesn't know, he's just of this world, maybe imaginary or maybe not, even if valentin feels his hurting arm he doubts all this happening, he's held so steady, focused on finding his return, not believing in what he's seeing or even feeling, like he'll wake up—imhotep completes his story about his affair, which ended with the woman sending him a dull breakup text, and he says, you used to tell me, you know, all the time that we're like travelers through the universe, skipping from place to place, or time to time, our minds never are still, it all seemed bullshit, and now here you are, from another place or time, and it's just funny, you always take your thoughts so seriously, like you know what you're talking about, but i think you're making shit up, we'll be okay—