On the left is an imaginary home I designed for me and Jeanne. On the right is a self-portrait with cartoon eels where my head should be. From my fingers dangle the four yellow talismans that once in a dream foretold my doom. Sometimes I don't know where I'm going when I have a brushpen in my hand.
We are preparing for our wedding which is in less than 90 days! We are painting murals for the nursery in the school where we work and we are not getting paid a dime for it. I am inadequately prepared to teach my first classes when school starts up again one month from now. There's a lot on my plate. Yet I am still finding the time to exercise, make playlists, read fantasy novels, and go for twilight bike rides around Old Metairie.
I hear crickets outside my window. The moon is a fingernail sliver in the sky. Cats are sleeping on top of my car. Nighttime in the summer is a fragrant and muggy affair that most people ignore within the confines of their air-conditioned palaces. I like to glimpse inside of them while passing, usually to see nothing more than the glow of their TV sets.
The nights of suburbia inform my dreams. I ride upon zephyr wheels, inexhaustible, down amber-lit tree-shrouded avenues. The occasional quaint architecture stirs the imagination. In my nocturnal paradise, I am surrounded by funny old buildings with elaborate gardens. To glide down an empty street is a favorite pastime.
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