Wednesday, July 31, 2019

I went back in time, living in a dorm room. Some semi-famous musicians came to jam in the room, which then became an arena, or a large performing space anyway. Tight 70s rockers, like David Lindley. The bass player took a drum solo, wandering around a maze of giant drums. The guitar player talked to us after about cars, about rebuilding muscle cars. He wanted to stay in touch, to play with us sometime. It was me, J.T., some vague others.

Wednesday, July 24, 2019

Waiting in line to get into some general admission event, maybe a tennis match. Gazing at the people at the front, waiting to be rewarded for their enthusiasm and tenacity. Some were sitting in folding chairs like they’d been there for hours, or maybe since last night. Someone just ahead of us let one in our group skip over them and I said thanks, it’s very nice of you.

I was in a Formula 1 car for a moment, going through a familiar spot from some famous track. Under a bridge and to the left.

Tuesday, July 09, 2019

I was with a group of friends and relatives, my wife, my sister, others. Suddenly I felt compelled to rise and tell a joke, which I delivered in the manner of Johnny Carson: “I hear President Trump is planning to attack Iran this October,” I began. “I’m told members of the military will be wearing pink—in honor of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.”

They all peered at me in stony silence. I muttered curses at myself as I sat back down, for having misjudged the crowd, misjudged the joke, for having failed.

Tuesday, July 02, 2019

A group of us had gotten together and we were eating, drinking. I grew bored and drew a picture of an airplane, copied from somewhere else, the back of a little brochure maybe. Three-quarter view from the rear, climbing slightly. It became a picture of a horse.