Tuesday, April 22, 2014

I guess I would call this a dream

Amy Goodman is shooting Democracy Now in my apartment. I’m sleeping on the carpet in the entryway with all my blankets, and I think of trying to explain that I’m there because there’s more air, but she’s already downstairs in the basement with today’s guest who maybe I’m supposed to recognize. I go outside to look for a ride and there’s a huge plume of black smoke in the near distance, that must have been what I smelled last night, is there a problem? But now this is normal, San Francisco is always burning, and the people who pick me up are on the way to an NA meeting, I find this out because they’re testing me to see if I’m tired because I partied last night, it was Valentine’s Day, and I’m still not wearing any clothes except boxer shorts while we drive in the wrong direction and the guy in the back seat with me pushes his foot into my crotch while looking in the other direction, white tube socks and it feels kind of good. Just when I think they’ve taken me too far to ever get back, we turn around and we’re on a highway. This is like the desert, someone says, and it is the desert, I know because I lived in New Mexico, we’re driving all the way back and somehow this is comforting.

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