Late night breakfast at the truck stop. I sit down and look at the menu, and the waitress says, “I’ll get you an ashtray, hon.” I tell her I don’t smoke, and she asks, “You know you’re in the smoking section?” I say “Yeah.” She stares at me vacantly. I ask, “Do I have to smoke to sit here?” She says after a beat, “No, non-smokers just never willingly sit in smoking.” Awkward silence. I order and after an eternity, my food comes. I open the jelly for my english muffin and prepare to dig in, when I realize I have no silverware. There isn’t even any to steal for adjacent tables. I sigh, lower my head, and wait...

Later, at home, I am watching that movie about the Bolshevik revolution and drifting off to sleep on the couch, full of delicious breakfast food. I smell cigarette smoke through the open window, and though I know its my neighbor out on her porch, I imagine its my Doc Holliday on the other side of the wall...

Next thing I know, I am dropped into what can only be described as a surrealist’s nightmare. I am wandering in a forest, and I climb the crest of a hill. On the other side is a ring of trees, each with a dead or dying pterodactyl nailed to it, halfway up the trunk. Different animals, like moose and elk are eating them, pulling the stringy flesh and slowly chewing it. I am horrified and start to run. I run into a lion but I’m not scared cause its playful and friendly. (Any of you readers leo’s?) I know there was more, but I think my brain is protecting me from it.