I was part of an entity called Donald G. Carlton, a male mammal of the human species. He was a "writer" and was mated to the female, who was called Edith and who worked in "motion pictures." They lived in a place called Hollywood, in a family unit structure faintly similar to a children's creche. Custom on this world dictated that the female take one name of her mate, which indicated that the sex was even more subservient than female Thalassans. The male's body ached, but not as badly as I would have expected. And, as I expected, there was no sensitivity in the brain. "Hey! Edith!" Donald said. "Get up!" "Leave me alone, Don. I'm miserable," a lighter voice answered from the lumpy sack beside him. "I had the most awful dream." "It must be the mountain air," he replied. "I did too." "Whatever made me think this would be fun!" Edith said. "You and your meteor-hunting!" The sack heaved and twisted and her head appeared at one end. "I feel like I've been worked over with a baseball bat. Oh! My legs!" "You're not alone," he said. "I guess it's the hard ground and these strait-jackets they laughingly call sleeping bags." "About that dream," Edith said. "It was horrible. There was this little green and yellow thing that looked like a cross between a lizard and a human being. It was sitting on my shoulders and I was naked--carrying it around, doing what it wanted me to do! I wanted to throw it off and stamp on it but I couldn't. I just ran and ran and all the time that little monster sat with its legs around my neck, hooting like an owl. Now, wasn't that something?" Donald was very quiet. "You know," he said slowly, "essentially that was the same dream I had." "But that can't be! People don't have the same nightmares." "We did." "Then maybe--maybe it wasn't a nightmare!" "Nonsense. We're here. We're all right. But I think perhaps we'd better get out of here--oh, Keerist! I'm one solid bruise." He twisted around until he found the fastenings and opened the bag. With a groan he stood up. Edith looked at him, her eyes wide with sudden terror. "Don," she said in a brittle voice, "didn't you wear pajamas when you went to bed last night?" "Yes." "Well, you're not wearing them now." An expression of horror crossed her face. "And neither am I," she added in a small voice. * * * * * I could feel the shock in Donald's brain as he looked down at himself. "That's not all I'm not wearing," he said dully. "I'm shaved!" There was a brief flurry inside the other sleeping bag. "So am I!" Edith's voice was a whisper of fright. "That was no dream! I remember this. The lizard gave me something that I rubbed all over myself--and my hair came off. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help myself." Her hands went to her head and she sighed, "Well, _that's_ all there. For a moment I thought--"