NOT MUCH OF note in my waking life. People get sick or don’t, people die or don’t, I watch TV or don’t. Sometimes I smoke without remembering lighting up. I continue to go to a deranged hypnotist and try to recall a film by a deceased African American gentleman. I sell collapsible clown shoes. I eat Slammy burgers. In my waking life, I am not a novelizer. Nor will I be many other people, as I will in the dreams. I am, while awake, in fact, not even fully me. I believe if I had the courage to be completely me, I would be a somewhat more interesting person. I believe people would be drawn to me. I believe I would not be lonely. I cannot bear to believe that what I am while awake is the entirety of me. I unstrap myself from my sleeping chair and perform my morning ablutions. Then head for Barassini’s.