I was called upon to speak to a children’s class, about their school, about their learning. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to say but then it happened and it was fine and after I completely forgot what I had said and I tried to remember.

We are going somewhere in a car. We stopped and looked at the sky. Something weird was happening with the stars. Some were circulating a big transparent moon, moving like birds.

A game of pool in a bar. I was playing against a good player, but strange. He and his friend insisted on arranging extraneous objects on the felt: shells, pebbles. Little obstacles. He used the 9 ball to hit instead of the cue ball.

On a vacation in a European country, the three of us split off from some larger group we were with, maybe extended family. We were looking for a go-kart track. Our cabbie couldn’t quite get us there, infuriatingly, but he described to us how to go the rest of the way on foot.

There were jazz pickup bands playing everywhere, along a promenade. Someone onstage—not a musician—had two faces, one on either side of her head. She turned to show them both, and both were smiling.

I was watching an Eagles game. There was a tremendous first down on the final drive, the receiver running after the catch and stretching for an extra yard when he was tackled. But they lost.

We were at Lime Rock for races, with M. P. We found a place to park and then got beers from a stand up on the hill where I used to go when I was a kid. The track was near the ocean now. A giant tidal wave came in and swept me off my feet. After it receded I asked the bartender what she had and she pointed to a single tap of IPA. “I’ll have that then.” S. came over and decided it was best we buy a pitcher.

My older sister bought a guitar and strung it up weird. I was trying to fix it.

I had befriended the sixth man on the New York Knicks. I was walking with him from practice to the locker room. I don’t know if I was a reporter or what.