and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

Aha! That laze, like yesterday's leftovers there you are, a slight stink about you as you sit staring blankly at me. A look on your face like I should know what you're talking about, like I should know why you're hear, like I should know what I owe you. Like I should know.

The sheet, pulled up and wrinkled into a ball, is folded over itself. Half the mattress is exposed, discolouring in the sunlight while the cold of winter creeps around in the background, a vulture waiting for the carrion. I can't fix it. It might as well be foreign to me, the stretch bands, the strips of pastel mexico-pattern, the mis-matched pillow cases.

Cooking instead, for hours, stewing curry like it defines a reason, a purpose - as if filling the day with stovework implies meaning. Salty pre-prepared food still resonating regardless of the homemade smells, the bubbling concoction, the sweet spicy hot smooth reductions. Into my mouth - pop - pre-prepared, pre-enjoyed even, as I walk down the road; zombie.

Swaying, weaving to one side of the sidewalk and back to the other, stopping mid-stride. The stream of people passing by are people, I know, I've measured, they're real, I however, am not.

Somebody walks by with purpose, with pride. This one I notice. He looks as though he has just gotten up, like he is going somewhere he wants to go, there is meaning in his step, there is purpose in his pose. I want to be him, just quick like, for a moment, to see where he is going. I'm swaying, I'm weaving.

Inside it's more of the same. That old lady, in front of me, she came in the store behind me. Even the grandmother's shop faster than me, those old nags. I can't tell what aisle I am in, no, I can, it's what I am hear for; I can't tell what I'm hear for. No. It's in my hand.

Green Bell Peppers. $.99/lbs.

Wow, it is that simple. Shut your eyes, move about. When you open them again I'm standing somewhere else and you're in the same place. It's a long story and you don't even want to hear it, which is a complete sham - I listened to yours. Where is the equity, where is the pomp that is meaningful exchange. Exchange means back and forth, fuck. I'm looking back there, at the wrinkled sheet, I'm there on top and sort of grappling half-heartedly with another person. Tickle-fighting, maybe, or just play-acting as if someone else were in the room to watch. My heart isn't in it, I don't care.

From over here I look half asleep but when I look straight at myself in the eyes I can see I'm only half awake, fighting laze with as much as fifty percent will give me.