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“What’s that?” I asked.

You said: “I went to a writers’ camp. It’s the booklet we made.”

Despite priding myself on my academic ability, and always looking for opportunities to prove it, I’d never heard of such an activity.

“Som-nam-bu-lists,” I read.

“That’s what we called ourselves. Sleep walkers.”

The word was new to me. Who were these kids that identified themselves by words I didn’t even know?

Then you told me about the story you’d written at the camp.

It concerned a missing person. In the end, whoever was searching for them found only traces of a strange flour around a huge old millstone.

The subtlety and sophistication boggled my mind.

I didn’t tell you how impressed I was. I probably just said, “Cool.”

And now I can’t tell you, because you’ve dropped off the radar again.

Step safely, sleep walker. Return with more tales from writers’ camp to dumbfound your old friend.