The Framework of a Dream

I dream vivid and often. Most of the time I just forget about the stuff my subconscious invents (even though it's usually pretty awesome). Other times, I write an outline when I wake up, repeat the dream to myself a few times, then write the story later. If I don't do all of these things, I'll completely forget and won't be able to see it anymore.

This is a dream outline I made in August of 2010:

dream about friends
buss house
shower
kiss?
bus up mountain
not the right bus
seeing dc from the top
driver tells me vre is close
dc
leaning houses - thinking about them
pie show
jorge cooking big piece of meat
andrew being so happy to see me
going through crowd of rock people trying to follow line of kids
passing selah on the way out
thinking andrew didn't have a gig for me to go to so it must be private
running down the path and into what looks like a camp
trying to find the others
tending to a fire with a big black pot - taking the fire out from the pot so it can sleep but keeping the fire alive - looked like corn stalks not wood - woke up

I vaguely remember it; it was a dream that came about after finding out my friend Andrew had joined the Pietasters. Because it's been so long since I had the dream and wrote the outline, I can't write it out in long form anymore. I mean, I could but it wouldn't have the same visualization as the dream; I'd be making it up.

Sometimes I feel like writing dreams and real life are like cheat-writing.

Neighborhood Meetings

France. Bikes.

I lived next to a cafe on top of a hill in a cute neighborhood and I was excited because I was supposed to meet you at a park. I rode my bike down to the park and before I found you, I saw my dad. He was really happy to see me and asked if I wanted to help him deliver a package to someone. I said yes, but I had to find you first.

The park was really pretty; there was a river, lots of trees, and people playing soccer. I rode across a bridge and found you, told you I would see you later, then went with my dad. It was weird; my dad was young and healthy again. He wasn't nuts.

We talked and laughed as we rode our bikes through this cute French neighborhood (which looked just like Montreal) then we left the package at someone's doorstep. We parted ways and I went back to the park. I looked for you but you weren't there anymore. I started to get self conscious and upset because maybe you were mad that I broke off plans. I walked my bike a few blocks up the hill to the cafe to have something to eat and there you were, drinking coffee. You invited me to sit down and then we started talking and laughing.

The setting -- the neighborhood -- was far more vivid than anything else.

After that, I was back in my high school auditorium where I understood that the school was built on an underground volcano which was going to go off anytime now. I had a book which told how to stop it and I had to deliver it to someone but
all the other students kept trying to steal it from me.

Striped Pajamas + Classroom Touchies

I stood in a big brown room with brown carpet, brown rugs, a brown desk with a brown chair, and vast, open space. In one far corner of the room was a four post bed with a canopy and brown curtains. In the other corner, there was a doorway. Through that doorway came the muse; the same sad, sleepy man that had recently appeared in two other dreams.

He wore brown and cream striped pajamas which stood out against all the other browns in the room.

He looked around cautiously and tip-toed to bed. He carefully peeled back the brown covers and tucked himself in. I was quite far away but I could see him clutching a brown pillow with a look of severe worry on his face. I was sad because I couldn't do anything; I knew I wasn't really there.

---

Classrooms. High school classrooms which were connected on all four sides to other identical classrooms. I wandered in and out of empty classrooms knowing that later they would be full and I would have to find him.

Him. This sad, elusive dream muse.

The people appeared gradually and magically. Classes were happening and I was busy wading through desks and students and knowledge. Biology labs, English courses, Spanish tests, History lectures. Where could he be?

I just wanted to talk to him. That's all.

I found him on the floor in a computer lab; hunched over some machine he was fixing. I rushed to his side and wrapped my arms around him from behind. He said words to me which I don't recall and then I placed my hand in his in an act of trust. I don't know exactly what happened but he moved my hand so I was touching his body in strange ways which were deemed inappropriate in this dream world. I believed in him, I believed I loved him, but I also knew something was very wrong. I never once doubted his identity until I woke up.

In the morning, I was horrified. I never saw his face but I saw his jacket. The same jacket worn by a man from a few awkward dates in real life. A man who I had suspected was looking for something which I would not provide. A man who I was truthful with. A man who, shortly thereafter, posted a Craigslist advertisement looking for what I suspected he was looking for. Basically, a man who is like any other man. A man that makes me uncomfortable and disappoints me.

In this dream world, he managed to trick me into thinking he was the muse.

Dystopian Hope

How can I help?

It's void of color outside. There's just wind, rain, darkness, cold, thunder, and occasional lightning. There's an abandoned shopping mall before me. It's old; hasn't been used in quite a while. I'm rowing a boat through the parking lot in rapidly rising waters.

I'm inside a half-flooded multi-tiered department store. It's dark and I'm not sure how I'm seeing my way around, but I am. There are tables and racks of wet and moldy clothing and other goods all around me. There are stairs and escalators everywhere. The water has stopped rising but the ceiling is leaking. I am certain that it's going to cave in and completely flood the building.

I look around and my mind flashes with an image of things just before they got this way; panicked shoppers, flickering lights, and the same sensation that the ceiling leaks will lead to a flood. I blink my eyes and things are abandoned and dark again. I'm hopping around on steps, trying to make my way to the top level but somehow it just doesn't happen. I'm not sure what I'm trying to do. I keep thinking that there was some sort of mix up; these people that I keep seeing are already dead. I can't save them anymore. But even if they weren't already dead, I had no idea what I was looking for or how I could save the building from completely flooding. This wasn't my job...

More rain came. Inside the building. I'm not sure how but it did. The ceiling was disappearing. I kept hopping from thing to thing and climbing up stairs. I looked along what was left of the ceiling as I went trying to find whatever it was I was looking for but I never did. Finally, there was no more ceiling at all. The water just poured in. I saw all the people die; they drowned. I tried to scream but no noise came out because I was underwater.

I woke up completely wet and frantically trying to catch my breath. I was in the very center of a tall, roundish academic building. I was laying on the floor and staring straight up at the balconies above me. Hundreds of men in business suits walked by carrying briefcases. The only students around were graduate students; nice-looking professional ones. Distinguished and privileged men and women. They all wore blacks and browns, all clean cut, tidy hair, etc. Everything around me was made of important-looking gray marble.

I coughed and sputtered. I may have screamed for help. The business men and the graduate students all just went about their business without so much as a glance in my direction. They stepped over me or went around me; not a one offered me a hand in getting up.

I stood up and frantically ran around the room looking for.......what was I looking for? Why don't I know? Why am I here?!

Up and down steps, through offices, between stacks of books......

"Excuse me, sir. Do you know why I'm here? What am I looking for?"

No answer. Never an answer. Ever. It was like I simply didn't exist.

After a while, I just gave up. I sat at one of the balconies with my chin against the railing just looking down at all of the monotonous people walking by. I sat there, day and night. Just watching and waiting. I was overwhelmed with sadness because I still didn't know what my purpose was. Why was I there?

One day, as I was watching all of the people, I saw something different. I saw this beautiful, warm green glow emitting from a body down below. Oh, God. My heart.......my insides........

I ran down the steps into the bottom floor after him. I shouted his name over and over. I could hear my own voice echo but no one else so much as looked at me. When he reached the center of the room, he stopped and turned around.

My heart.......it was really him. He wasn't like the others. He wasn't perfect, he wasn't formal. He wore jeans and a button up shirt, he looked sad and tired yet he shined with color and life. He had that green light around him and the closer I got, the warmer it felt.

I knew everything. I was there for him; I was supposed to save him. I was supposed to be his friend, love him, listen to him, hold him, help him be human.

But he just stood there. I ran to him, so happy to see him, still shouting his name. His eyes were like glass. He..........he was looking straight through me.

"No! No, no, no, no, no! Please! Please wake up! You have to! I'm here for you! You're why I'm here! Please! I promise I'll be good to you!"

My insides were filled with pure love and it was hurting so much. I tried and tried to communicate with him but the more I did, the smaller I got.

"Please! Just talk to me! Please! I'm right here! Why don't you answer? What's wrong with you?! Please just let me help....whatever it is, I'll still love you. I promise!"

I fell to my knees and cried before him.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. And apparently God agreed.

God whispered an idea of what was going to happen next into my ear. He didn't tell me in words or pictures, it was just.....a strange divine message delivered straight to my brain. Basically, I had just a few seconds before everything started all over again.

"Sleep."

Snowy white powder suddenly dropped from the sky and covered everything. The business men and graduate students all dropped to the floor immediately. As he went down, I lunged at my muse and shouted 'I love you'. I don't think he ever saw or heard me, but I had been successful in wrapping my arms around his legs as we both went down.

I was so small; just a child. As my eyes closed, I smiled and snuggled closer to his leg. I stuck one of my fingers through the hole in his jeans by his knee and touched his skin. Just as my body went limp, the warm green around his body over took me and I fell asleep feeling warm and finally happy.


(Sorry for the shift in voice but I'm too lazy to go back and change it.)

Meat Judgment

Before I left, I headed into the side door of the house where the party was. There was a deli counter with a butcher cutting up meats. I asked him for these tiny squares of thinly-sliced assorted meats so he sliced them one-by-one with a tiny knife and started putting them on a scale. I was freaked out because I had no idea how much it would cost. I grabbed a handful from the scale and shoved them into my mouth like candy. I immediately felt a wave of shame overcome me because I was a vegetarian. I turned around to see if anyone was looking and sure enough, Misty and her best/boyfriend Andrew were sitting on this old orange couch looking at me with eyes of judgment. Neither of them said a word but their eyes were full of hatred; they were calling me a liar and an animal killer. I slowed my chewing down because I felt so bad. I wanted to spit it out. I could taste ham in my mouth and I.........

I Guess This World Is Over

My eyes darted left and then right; the room was mostly dark but I could see the dust flurries falling in the golden light shining through the heavily-curtained bunkhouse window. I slowly sat up and searched the room for my alarm clock. There it was. Eleven o' clock. AM. Early for me but very, VERY late for them. I hopped out of my bottom bunk space and trotted barefoot and pajama-clad into the mess hall.

The mess hall contained two very long wooden tables where everyone sat together for meals. The ceilings were high and the echoing voices of the "lunch ladies" could be heard from a distance. "Lunch ladies" would be selling them short, though; they also cooked breakfast and dinner.

Of course, I came in at odd times and usually missed organized meals. I routinely raided the cabinets myself much to their dismay. Today was no different. Underneath the condiment table was a cabinet with a random assortment of no-cook breakfast foods left over from earlier; tiny boxes of cereal, bags of bagels, and loose pouches of Poptarts. I decided to try my luck with the Poptarts.

I selected a shiny silver pouch, opened it, and.....what? No frosting? Who eats Poptarts without frosting?

I took a bite.

Cherry.

Cherry is my favorite but...entirely too dry. Hmmm.

I finished the first Poptart but tossed the second one (still in its silvery pouch) in the trash.

Gross. Why do they even make those?

Still barefoot and in my sleep shorts and tank top, I grabbed my notepad and headed out toward the front entrance to see what was going on. The director and the other leaders glanced over at me as new campers arrived. I pretended to scribble things down in my notepad but really I was looking at the mountains and trying to figure out where exactly I was.

When I was sure none of the counselors were watching me, I walked up to a parent and asked her where I was.

"Switzerland", she answered in another language.

Oh. That makes sense. I thought I was in Europe.

As the children started to take shape and form into something camp-like, the buses and the parents left. People disbursed. I rounded a corner so no one would see me then I furiously scribbled words in my notebook. I whispered something magical into the air and all at once my notebook became a contraption which strapped to my back. My pen multiplied and became four long wooden rods which could be twirled in such a way that I could fly.

I burst back through the front entrance of the dining hall and ran the length of the place. When I came out the other end, I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and facing a downward slope. I jumped down the hill and twirled the sticks above my head so I floated and landed gently on the horse path that separated the buildings and the paddocks. The nearby campers on horses ooh'd and ahh'd. The young Asian woman guiding them was beyond angry. She left them behind and approached me.

"Why are you flying? You know you're forbidden to have that machine here with you! You're supposed to be writing! Go back to your cabin right now!"

I looked at her strangely and drew inappropriate signs at her in the air with my sticks. My mouth opened, but not a word escaped so I made more signs which she quite obviously didn't understand.

"What on Earth are you doing?! Stop playing with me. I'm seriously losing patience here; I can't just drop what I'm doing with the rest of these kids every time you feel like doing something different! If you don't go back to your cabin this instant, I'm going to have to report you to the director and you're going to get written up again."

I frowned at the girl. My sticks began to wave; I drew pictures in the air that only I could see. I took a few steps back then....magic! I was propelled upward by the thing on my back which was somehow controlled by the sticks in my hands. The woman screamed at me in another language and I laughed at her from a good fifteen feet above her head. The children on horses all looked on with great concern.

"Come down here, you coward!", she shouted in another language. She was terribly angry.

All at once, I heard voices on radios; they were all coming for me. I was scared but I was confident that I wouldn't be taken because they couldn't catch me. I whirled my sticks and drew fabulous works of art that only I could see and my backpack sent me forward, following the horse path into the shady area between the barns and a fence lined by a row of tall trees. The Asian woman was chasing me on foot and others were coming on horse. Flight was no longer an option so I put the sticks away and jumped. I bounded forward at an alarming pace; even those on horses couldn't catch me. When I reached the front entrance, the sticks appeared once more and I hovered a few feet above those in charge of the camp. I couldn't understand their language this time but I understood that I wasn't allowed back ever again.

I rounded the corner of the long building and floated into a farmer's market. My head kept bumping into the ceiling of the shed overhang but no one seemed to notice; it was as if I were invisible. Big strong Russian-looking men were buying fruits and vegetables and tiny little girls were tending to baskets of flowers. The old-fashioned cash register made ching-ching noises at regular intervals.

I looked across the road and thought that it was such a short distance yet a huge undertaking to actually cross. For just a moment, I looked at the yellow stripes down the middle and I was back in Brightwood again. I was on the ground with my new bicycle and behind me was a party of presents and picnic tables and cake. In front of me was the road and across it was a very tall garage and steps leading to the loft above. I no longer needed my training wheels but they didn't know that; when I finally crossed and showed them it was a complete surprise! I don't even know how I learned, but I did. That moment was imprisoned in a photograph and that's how I know about it.

But no.....I wasn't on the ground and there was no party behind me, nor was there any garage or loft before me. It appeared to be another farmer's market shed but instead of patrons there was an entire black church full of mourners standing around sobbing openly. With a little movement of my sticks, I was soon above them.

I heard familiar music. What...? I let myself down gently and the sticks disappeared from my hands. I wandered in and out of the crowd until I came to an opening with a stage. There on the stage was a gospel band. Everything looked like business as usual but they were playing the song, World Over by Edna's Goldfish. I looked around me and big black ladies with ridiculous hats were weeping and praising Jesus. I felt a familiar warmth overtake me; like the sun had just come out from behind the clouds. When the second verse began, I stepped forward into the front row. I closed my eyes, smiled, and looked upward. I began to quietly mouth the words.

Weeks to go before I leave for good
You don't know my name
But you probably should...

I opened my eyes and suddenly everyone around me was aware of the music I was hearing. Everyone was angrily looking at me as if it were my fault. Even the gospel band had stopped playing and looked confused as to where the music was coming from. Though incredibly self-conscious, I closed my eyes and continued to sing louder. I could hear the angry mob over the music and my own voice. Suddenly, I threw up my arms and screamed wildly. This seemed to confuse and quiet them momentarily.

"God! It's from God! The music you hear is coming from the sky! God is playing Edna's Goldfish for me!"

I closed my eyes and kept singing, smiling, and looking up. I knew the crowd was closing in on me but I didn't care. I became one with the music and --

House Shows, Train Rides, and Playgrounds

Normally I don't like to preface my dreams because I find that it's more fun for the reader that way but I feel like this one was kind of special. It's been about a week or so since I had it and I still keep coming back to it. It was a particularly colorful and adventurous dream; it perfectly embodied the spirit of all of the things I think I'm really about. The way I felt in the dream was nice; I felt like myself. That would be the self that goes on amazing solo adventures, meets a lot of new people, takes photographs, and feels an odd sense of peace and belonging in chasing something she can't really define. I falter at decision-making when it comes to nearly everything else because I'm never quite sure what I want or what I think or what's right.......but this thing that I am chasing and finding through music is something that feels more true than anything else. That's my calling. Not doing it is like going against my nature but yet here I am, not doing it for the sake of society and practicality. Are degrees and jobs and money really more important...?

There were three distinct parts to this dream: house show, train, & playground.

I was at a house show in the suburbs. The house was big and old with wood floors and a stair case that creaked when you walked on it. There were lots of art school-looking kids hanging around and drinking. The living room was dimly lit and there was a big oval-shaped rug on the floor. Kids were sitting on the floor listening to someone playing the guitar on the couch. The musician was a weird mix of Drew Danburry and Herman Dune.

After the show, the musician asked me to travel with him and I was so pleased I could have cried.

We sat on the ground in a large echo-y train station which resembled a Metro station in DC. We talked about our lives and I asked him about his wife. I think he said something like, "Yeah, she's there."

The train came. It was deep green lined with gold; very beautiful. The compartment meant for the musician and I was at the very end of the the train. It was tiny and consisted of two benches attached to the wall and a table between them. No room for anything else. I remember the benches being incredibly high and the musician had to help me up. We boarded the train from the right side and I sat on the left with my back to the end of the train.

The train pulled out and the musician and I made more small talk. I eventually fell asleep with my head on the table.

I awoke to feel a breeze. The musician was gone but the train was still moving along. The window was open and outside everything was beautiful and warm. I stuck my head out the window, closed my eyes for a moment, and smiled.

The sky was bright blue with a few fluffy white clouds and the sun was shining. There were miles of bright green fields; some of grass, some with great stalks of corn. In the distance was a clear and colorful city and giant windmills turning in the breeze. Everything was presented in layers of gently rolling hills. It was the most beautiful thing I'd every seen.

This was supposed to be Europe but I knew that it was a new sort of Europe. It was somebody's sustainable "green" vision of Europe. It was the future.

I stood of the little back balcony of the train and enjoyed the breeze until the train came to a halt in the middle of a corn field. From there I could see a playground in the distance and further, a city.

I was standing at the foot of a colorful piece of playground equipment. The metal bars, platforms, and slides were all shiny and painted bright shades of yellow, red, blue, and green. There were small children running around me and parents sitting on benches. Kids were laughing and playing and it just made me really happy. We were surround by corn on three sides and on the forth side was a grassy plain which showed the city in the distance. It was a large and colorful city; everything was in beautiful bright colors rather than drab shades of black and brown. The city matched the playground. I just stood there in the middle of things and looked around. I felt a sense of belonging in the fact that I didn't belong at all. That was exactly where I was supposed to be even though I was an outsider.

__________

I think one of my favorite things in the world is when my practical and impractical worlds converge. I'm unsure of how else to express that; it's like I live two lives and sometimes one takes up more time than the other but they're both my life even though they're generally really separate. Examples of convergence would be taking Kristin to see shows even though she's someone I met through the honor society at LFCC or going to see Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin when I was at a conference in Seattle. I've always kind of wanted my show/music/photography/travel life to be a part of my education/work/family/day-to-day life but it seldom is. Convergence makes me giddy even if it's just someone making a comment about the band on my hoodie.

This year I made a promise to myself that I would go on a mission trip over spring break with LCM because I've never done anything like that before and I feel like it would be good for me. The trip was announced and I signed up; I'm going to Jacksonville, FL to do something with leftover crops. I honestly didn't think to look for shows because I was trying to be pure about this; this is about helping others, not me. The other day I happened to look at Casper and the Cookies' myspace page and lo and behold, they're playing Jacksonville the week that I'll be there. When I saw that, I was so happy I almost cried. Really. I almost cried. There is just so much joy involved in seeing the musicians I know and love as part of the other half of my life. You know, if Mason booked a band I know and love for an event here I probably would cry from happiness.

It's almost March and I've gone to a measly three shows. That's not enough adventure for me. I need more house shows, train rides, and playgrounds in my life.

Elementary Rabbits (Part II)

I found myself in elementary school again. I was in one of the classrooms in the wings of A.G. Richardson back in Culpeper County. As I recall, the building was clover-ish in the fact that it was three loops; one for each grade 4th-6th. At the top of each loop were bathrooms with a water fountain between them. I sat in this classroom among former peers and perhaps a teacher and wondered why I was present. I sensed that I had acted up in some way and that I should leave. I didn't belong there. I never did but in this case, I honestly didn't belong there because I was an adult among children. Acting up was just a way to excuse myself.

Children lined up in the hall, chattering and giggling away. They wore jackets and backpacks. Some stood on tiptoe to reach the water fountain. I made my way through the small crowd and into the bathroom.

The bathroom was a dressing room of sorts. The walls were painted deep red and the only lighting came from yellowish bulbs surrounding a large mirror on the left. The entire room was filled with faux flowers; mostly petunias in bright shades of purple and pink. They didn't match the walls at all. I sat on a ledge against the back wall in the small room and a handsome light-skinned young African-American man sat in a chair in front of the mirror. We spoke informally but I'm unsure exactly what we spoke about. I don't think we had much in common. Though he seemed to be famous I could sense we had known each other from somewhere. I tried to remember who he was.....I am still trying to remember......but alas, it's just not coming to me.

He wore giant diamonds in his ears and had a brilliant smile. I thought he looked a bit like a fellow I did a project with last semester but it wasn't him. This guy was clearly someone from my past but.....who?!

The room filled with white rabbits. Some were normal-sized and some were much larger and not terribly rabbit-like at all. I absent-mindedly petted them as I spoke to the handsome young man.

Eventually, I got up and walked back out into the hall where the school setting remained but was now interspersed with rabbits.

I recall talking to my mom on the phone later and asking her what she thought of the movie. She told me that she honestly enjoyed the sequel much more than the original. She referred to it as "The Rabbit Movie".

Someone Still Loves You National Eye

I sat in a cardboard box with my feet hanging out in my grandma's unused living room talking on the chunky portable phone to Phil from Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin. I had a lot of trouble hearing what he was saying; at one point I asked when he was coming east again and he told me he'd be in New York to see (garbled words) sometime in the spring with his girlfriend. I was a bit surprised because I could have sworn he said Bella Morte which is a goth band my best friend and I used to go in Charlottesville see when we were in high school.

"Whoa. Did you just say you were going to see Bella Morte?"

"No. I said Queen Eleanor and the (garbled words again)."

"Oh, ok." I didn't particularly care about the rest of the band name.

There was great amounts of silence in the conversation where I would say hello over and over again and then someone would answer me and pick up the conversation awkwardly. I finally realized that I was talking to Will now rather than Phil. At some point I figured that it would be easier to turn around and talk to the guys in person rather than on the phone since I didn't really know who I was talking to and when.

I managed to scoot my little box around with my butt still planted firmly in the bottom but now I was facing the hallway. The room was suddenly much larger and grandma's trunk that doubled as a table (and also to my knowledge still contains my childhood Lego collection) had been removed. In its place was a shiny red drum set. The various members of the band were doing whatever it is people in bands do when they're not playing shows. Will came over to say hi and I hung up the phone. We chatted for a bit before Phil came over and thanked me for the mixed cd. I asked him which track he liked best and he said he really enjoyed National Eye's Dread Flight of the Crimson Bee immensely. All of the other guys agreed. He walked over to a karaoke machine in the corner and turned the song on.

Will, Phil, and John Rob began to dance around the room. Well, not so much John Rob but Will and Phil got really into it. They were clapping their hands and shaking their butts like my little step-sister used to do when she was five.

I told them I was really super happy that they liked the song and I told them all about National Eye; how Rick and Gretchen were nice people and they had a really awesome cat named Harpo that thinks he's a people. I also remarked to the band member that was sleeping on the couch in front of the faux bay window that he looked a lot like Rick, actually. Gretchen appeared in the hallway and agreed with me. I looked down and Harpo was at my feet staring up at me.

Gretchen thanked me for sharing the music with the Boris kids and then went over and started talking to Phil. I walked down the hall and went into the pink bathroom.

I was washing my hands when I saw Gretchen in the mirror. She was standing in the doorway and excitedly speaking about something though I'm unsure what. I thought about it and took it to mean that National Eye and Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin were going to do a collaboration.

The Impossible Commute

I bussed out to the Vienna metro station in the dark trying to get to the inauguration. Everything was chaotic; half of the metro fare machines were broken and the rest were being used by swarms of college students. I'd try my best to get up to one but it never seemed to happen; someone always beat me to it as this was a free-for-all and there were no lines. I frantically looked out the windows and down the escalators to see trains coming and going at lightning speed, each packed with crazed inauguration-goers.

I finally gave up on trying to get to a machine and retired to the corner of the room with vendors. There was a young lady selling sets of Crayola crayons and I spoke to her about her business and my brand loyalty to her company. I picked up a coloring book on the table and flipped though it. It contained simple images of fruit, flowers, and various other things found in nature. I told the young lady that I would buy something from her but I don't have kids. I awkwardly told her I had to go and I recall her laughing while speaking in that really fake sort of way that the hostesses of my mom's jewelry, candle, or scrapbooking parties would when talking business. She gave me her card before I walked off.

I stood before the entrance of the metro station and realized that I wouldn't be able to go to the inauguration. I also realized that I could see my breath. I looked down and I was wearing shorts.