I'm in a courtyard. There are ponds and fish tanks. My dog, Z. has dug space around and under a pond that's approximately the size, shape and depth of a bathtub, so that she can get under it. The water, though suspended by nothing, keeps its shape. Z. wriggles under it without disturbing it or getting wet. The water is a milky blue. We're standing next to one of the fish tanks. I take a sip of the salty water from the corner of the tank. A friend is waiting to hear whether the fish in it is sick so he can eat it. There are several sandwich baggies of cocaine in a long, shallow, translucent piece of tupperware. It's reportedly of low quality. Inside a hallway lined with walnut panels we're looking through the open door to the restroom. At textured, amber colored glass window sits half way up and runs the length of the room. A woman tells me how young I still am and to "Just ask A."
We're at the parking structure behind the office. S. is dressed up like Jean Luc Picard in his leisure wear. She's introducing someone to town. She tells him the parking structure is called "Met Corner." We scoff at the made up name. "She didn't even call it Robot or TARDIS corner" we remark. I have a mosquito bite on the inside of my bicep. It's large and misshapen. It looks somewhat like an over ripe strawberry or the tip of a tongue.
It's the zombie apocalypse. I've found a hatchet and strap it to my chest. It feels right. C., G.C. and their friends pick me up outside in a white sedan. They're tripping really hard and dose me. We speed through the streets. I lean out the window and yell "I'm sorry!" to all the zombies we pass. C. thinks it's super funny. We get to a warehouse and clear out the zombies. I realize the short reach of a hatchet makes it kind of a crummy choice. C. is compelled to eat part of one of the corpses, a black and green organ about the size of a mouse. There were kid zombies and we're all upset, mad and sorrowful. Soon C. vomits gallons of liquid until the organ comes out. She's compelled to eat it again. I ask "Why would you do that?"
I walk through a dark, damp, gray hallway full of cobwebs. It's a short hallway but I've been walking down it for a long time. Sometimes people join me but then they're able to walk faster ahead of me and leave. I can see the exit I just can't reach it. I think it continues underground because the end isn't particularly bright. I don't mind that I'm in the hallway—the spiders don't scare me and I do prefer things to be darker. I'm just bored, I want to leave to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
I keep walking.
I wake up.
I walked down a long, white, carpeted hallway away from the olympic-sized swimming pool. As I passed the last window with a view of the pool room, I thought back to a few minutes earlier. I had just seen my friend Dylan, he told me he was living in the pool. I wasn't surprised, he basically lived in the pool in high school (he was on the swim team). Before you know it, I thought, he'll be growing fins.
Now I was on my way to visit my new neighbors. I had just moved to this rec-
Their apartment walls were white like the hallways. Though it was windowless, the room was bright because of their supplied décor. The interior was vibrant and bright. Upon entering, their very large and eager dog bounded over and inspected me to check if I was the type of person who pets dogs. I looked down and pet its smooth head.
Its body was made of black, overstuffed pillows with string tassels stacked one on top of the other. The head was one square, medium sized pillow, the body three large, rounded pillows, and each leg a dozen tiny, rounded pillows and so on. Its beady eyes looked me over and its pink tongue slipped out as it began to pant.
I followed my neighbor as he slowly brought me to the living room. I sat down on some bright, comfortable cushions and the dog laid down next to me, resting its head on my lap. The female counterpart brought me tea and asked if I thought I would be able to care for the dog while they go away on vacation soon.
I said yes and continued to chat with them. Eventually they left for their vacation and I remained, happily petting the pillow pup.
I wake up.
The only thing I hear is my spurs jingling with each slow step down a wide, dirt street and the surrounding buildings moaning in the gentle, desert, spring wind. Everything is bright and pale but I can only focus on one thing: my foe. Their hand lays resting on their weapon holster as they look at me between the small gap between their bandana and their large hat.
I talk with an edge in my voice, “You don't wanna do that, son. Not here. Not in my town.” I spit to the side so they know what I really think of them.
Their eyes narrow and the top of the bandana raised as if they are smiling.
I lay my hand on my holster and narrow my eyes in response.
To the untrained eye, we pull our weapons and throw them at the same time, but I am skilled. There's no being as good as me in the entire region. I dodge their banana by jumping far to my right but I hit them so square and hard in the face they fall down. More fruit starts flying out of the buildings on either side of us.
I jump into a horse water trough to get out of the line of fire. I hold my breath for as long as I can. When I come up and shake the water off of my head I see the rapscallion just escaping the pile of fruit they were under and running out of town.
“It won't be the last we see of this fool,” I say to myself as I wake up.
Another detail about one of the victims in the South Valley Griego shooting.
Here's a great photo taken at yesterday's Martin Luther King Jr. Day parade in Alamogordo.
A chemist at a Massachusetts state lab was caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
New film about the Hemingway clan.
ALL 131 reasons David Banner got mad on T.V.'s The Hulk.
Obama referred to Stonewall in his inauguration speech.
Life on Mars, now more than ever.
I observe a hunting accident in which a canoe, floating sideways down rough, cold rapids becomes entangled in the antlers of a swimming caribou. Canoe and caribou float attached for a distance. The caribou is finally able to escape when it becomes a snow-white juvenile. He swims to shore and gallops away down the hill.