The Birth of Brother Ronin

Had a strange dream the other night: I was walking around the west side of Chicago for some reason, visiting old neighborhoods I guess, and I was dressed like a traditional Edo Period Samurai, duel katanas and all. Every now and then people in the hood would come out of the shadows and whisper the words “Brother Ronin”, like it was a bad thing to say, as if something would happen if they were heard. I kept walking, not really looking at anything, just moving. The dream became more strange when more people came from out of dark alleys, doorways, over roof tops whispering “Brother Ronin”, I don’t know if they were talking about me or not, but there was a sense of respect coupled with a modicum of fear in their voices and mannerisms. The environment was slightly desolate and grey, trash and dust littered the streets. The air smelled sticky, it carried a scent of fried rice, a hint of grass (could just be me on that one though), and gasoline. I got to the end of the street I was walking on and turned a corner, there were other samurai standing there, waiting for me, swords out. I kept walking and went right past them and I heard one of them say: “There goes Brother Ronin, he lives in the mind.” The last thing I remember before moving on to another dream was some kid running behind me yelling for me to come back, but I kept walking, all I knew was that there was something that I needed to do, that it was too important to let slide, the last thing the kid said was “Brother Ronin, don’t die!” Then the dream shifted to something else, something about peach cobbler. But now I think I have a title for the new story I’m working on, seems to make sense to me for some reason. But there you have it, the next book, due around this time next year will be called “Brother Ronin”. Makes me all warm and tingly just thinking about it, dig?