#530 Le Somnambule

It should have been a one-
pipe problem, Watson, but
my sleep patterns have been
irregular lately, have moved
from the no sleep of cocaine 
use to an ersatz sleepwalking,
full of fear, as if the hound of 
the Baskervilles was hard on 

my heels. I wake, immediately 
reach for another pipe. Have 
lost count of how many I’ve 
smoked in the last few weeks. 
& now I’m having visions, 
will suddenly see an owl in my 
chair, my pipe in its mouth; & 
we have moved from Baker 

Street to somewhere in the 
country. & the owl peers at me
through its saucer eyes, takes
the pipe out of its mouth, looks
down at it & says to me: “This is
not a pipe.” & what it means by
that, Watson, is the problem. Is
beyond my sphere of expertise.