(From yesterday)

"You look like a guy," my mother tells me. "You can't wear that to your cousin's graduation. It's too casual."

What she means is "Wear that dress your sister bought you."

Usually I don't care, but today I don't feel like wearing one.

The only images I can remember from my dream last night are giant sized housecats, wet Q-tips, and a girl who didn't like me. She really didn't like me and I don't even remember what she looked like. I just remember the feeling.

Future moments.

On the bus they came to me today.

For the second time in my life,

For the second time in two days,

I felt the future.

I said to her, "I'd make a great dad."

She laughed.

It came out of air like her arms.