You pounce on the rat with hunger-fueled savagery and snap its neck. You find a stick nearby, grind a point into it with the pavement, and pierce your feast so that you can cook it. The rest, as they say, is history. This sets the precedence for a dream which never ends. Rather than finish the story, you live in rags under a bridge, always awaiting pizza, always eating rats instead, until you've lived a lifetime this way. In your last hours -- toothless, cold, alone, weak with hunger -- you close your eyes. When you open them, you're awake, with the haunting memory of a which lasted longer than you have yet to live.