Notes Written Upon Waking Up About a Dream I Can No Longer Remember

Dad restaurant on the road in France, other people (young), hospital with severely depressed person?

TROOPS

Meanwhile, everyone looks down on May’s unspoken rival

TROOPS

Something unseen stabbed his chest, something more painful and more powerful than he'd ever felt before.

TROOPS

after that one, eh boys?” The saxophone shrieks suggestively

The car honked a few times and I turned around. A teenage boy was crossing the street in front of it, against the walk signal. I imagined he’d hurry up a bit, even reluctantly, knowing he was wrong but determined to maintain his insolence. Instead he turned and heaved a giant gob of spit in the direction of the driver’s window. It wobbled and distended, amoeba-like, as it arced through the air, shiny in the morning sun.

I don’t know where it landed.

I started at him as he walked away, and he turned around, as though something finally did make him feel guilty. He saw me watching him and turned away. He glanced at me again. And turned away again.