I awoke to find my knees resting in dirty clothes pile (mostly just worn a few hours and cast off after a sweaty day), my mind saying to represent the filth of the City Most Holy, with not a little satisfaction. Hands came together, steepled; they rose above my head, back arching in a supplicating posture. Spare the little one, the thought said. The waist bent, and my forhead was pressed into a clothing strewn floor. Spare him, please. Supplicate, genuflect, beg/pray. Supplicate, genuflect, beg/pray.
I regained control (I believe the City made the imperative too strong to resist), and returned to bed. I am afraid I'll never see him again, alive or dead.