“Is that something dragons could help with?”

He wiggled his fingers uninformatively.

When I asked to see one, he let me gaze through a microscope. I focused in on a wispy creature with a tube-shaped snout, tendrils curling from its jowls, and many tiny claws. “How big do these get?” I asked.

He held his thumbs about a millimeter apart. “It takes them a year to reach that size.”

I drank from a flask of Cantonese elixir made from fermented dragon eggs, into which the healer had inserted a few dozen recently hatched dragons. It was smoky-tasting, and so cold it hurt my teeth.

The healer said this drink had been revered for centuries for its health-enhancing properties. “It may work by stimulating mucus production in the intestines. That is a matter of interpretation. Call me if you experience any allergic reactions or other side effects. Dragons secrete amino acids that stimulate bizarre hormones but,” he patted me on the back, “your body should be able to handle them.”

“If I do experience side effects…what then?”

“We might consider introducing another, slightly larger dragon species for balance, for example a Cuban rock dragon. Competition between different intestinal dragon species may aid your chi, or overall fitness level. You are a delicate ecosystem, and it is only natural to have conflicting presences within.” He shone a flashlight into my ear and added, “Never let your fire go out.”

I knocked back the rest of the flask before driving home.

For the next few weeks, I noticed no real changes in my health, but my mood altered. I began once again to take pleasure in the uncertainty of my future. Was it the tiny dragons thrashing around inside me, gorging themselves on my intestinal flora, degrading dietary toxins for my own protection, that made me feel alive?