081513 #worm Meanwhile, ancient Greece is getting paved over, brick by gray brick. Me yearns for it the way you yearn for a dream too early stolen by the noise of day. The bricks of history don't let in the sun. One of the bricks has Me's blood on it. Does that make him complicitous? In what crime? Has he helped protect the ancients, or deprive the moderns of their real wisdom? The last bit of Greece he spies, before the last brick ka-thunks into place, is an orange dog, with sparks flying off its back, lifting a leg on one of the columns.