The children are locked into a cube truck. The driver gives the truck a push and it tumbles down the hill. It lands upside down, partially submerged in the river. One mother runs to the truck, lifts it out of the river and sets the injured children free. She gathers her own child tightly into her arms. The truck is covered in snow. I scoop some off the roof, and put it in my mouth.
I visit my father very early in the morning. We go for a ride in a purple van, and have an animated and reciprocal conversation - of a sort we never had, even years ago, before he got sick. It is extraordinary. I wish I could remember what we said.
My mother and I stand beside the bed of a dying old woman who stops breathing and turns green. We unroll six feet of cling wrap. It keeps clinging to itself; it is extremely difficult to keep it flat. Holding it by the corners, we place it carefully on top of the old woman - who starts breathing, and turns pink. We pull the plastic back off. Mom balls it up and hides it behind her back. The old woman sits up and asks us what we were doing. NOTHING, we say.
I have a technicolour penis tattooed on my inner thigh.
A shark is rushing around my apartment. I bash it over the head with a chair until its jaws pop out. It swims out my window. The disembodied jaws keep coming after me, so I call my mother. She picks the jaws up between two fingers with a paper towel and stuffs them into a jam jar.
