Robert has had a temporary decline in health. I haven’t seen him for more than a week. That is too long to go without seeing him. Robert should be seen. Some people think he is on vacation; I heard them talking about it, in the cafeteria. I know better than them. Robert is taking medicine, that makes him fuzzy, in the brain. It makes me fuzzy, too. I do not think I like it. It does not matter what I like, though - only Robert matters, and the fuzzy medicine makes him feel better, and that makes me feel better, too. It does not matter how I feel, though.
The fuzz in Robert’s brain makes him see more things when he is not awake. Dreams, I mean. I have heard about them. They seem familiar to me. In one, he was walking to school, with an entity he did not know, but who knew him. On the way, he pushed out two of his teeth - his front left teeth - and dashed them against a wall. I know that more happened, but this is all I can remember. Everything is fuzzy. Teeth are overrated.