Today

Cashier says "You're all set!" while a girl on her cell phone walks through the front door and says, "I just walked into a coffee shop."

Cab driver: "I started driving cabs 16 years ago. Always for Yellow Cab. I tell people I committed suicide 16 years ago. I train drivers now. I like to tell them I'm the Jack Kevorkian of Yellow Cab."

At the Free MallRide station: "All you Broncos fans, this city' about to be besieged by Pittsburgh Steelers!"

Huck Finn and Jim Float On (circa WWII)

Kids These Days

Expansionism (Unfolding Saga, Pt. 28)

Pic Parade (7/25 Regression)

I've been failing math since I moved here. Some nights when I go to bed I dream about being in class, only to be asked to hand in my homework (which I haven't done). When this happens I am filled with dread. Another zero. I'll have to work extra hard to make that up, I think to myself. Some nights the teacher calls on me and I realize I haven't done any work at all for the whole semester. There's no homework, just a mid-term and a final, and I doubt whether I'll be able to catch up in time for the mid-term next week.

When the dreams started, I'd generally be looking for the classroom, unable to find it. Once I'd found the room, all I'd have to do is stop and think really very hard about where it was the last time. Then came the confusion about what day it was. I'd be sitting in my philosophy class, noticing that something wasn't right. The teacher was on topic, but the classmates were all wrong. Was this Wednesday? Philosophy was on Tuesday! What are Wednesdays, then? Oh yeah, math. The theorems are too complicated to come in half-way through the class, I think. Besides, it's rude to show up half-way through the class.

By now I've come a long way. Last night I was laying on the floor of a late 1970's living room, shag carpet. The shades were drawn and the television was on, popcorn on the coffee table. My dad was lying on the couch in a white t-shirt and boxers when it dawned on me.

"Guess what? I'm currently missing my math final," I told my dad. "It's been a really useless semester when it comes to math," I say with all manner of matter-of-fact inflection, though on the inside my stomach is in knots. My heart is suddenly racing and I have a bit of panic in my chest, sweat on the brow.

"I'm failing my math class right now too," he said. "I don't think it's the end of the world, in the grand scheme of things. They'll offer it again next semester and you can just focus on that one class."

The phone rang and my dad picked it up, "No, I'm not feeling well, I couldn't make it. I'll be there next week." Before he could hang up the doorbell rang. I jumped up and opened the door and in it's frame stood a tall woman who pushed past me and walked into the living room.

"C'mon, Steve, you're feeling fine. You need to get dressed and come on in to class," she said. It's not the end of the world, is it? Even if it was that big a deal, there is nothing I could do about it now so no use worrying about it anymore. I've learned by now that would be a precious waste of time. I woke up.