Tuesday, August 18, 2020


Earlier as I was driving down Griffith Park Blvd., I was dreaming of a magic carpet with an operator, someone to transport me around, a better option than driving or walking when I'm feeling more inclined for a stretcher with everything going on with everyone everywhere all the time in

America, though of course a magic carpet with or without an operator would be preferable to being carried on a stretcher by multiple people. The closest I've ever come to being carted off is after passing out and becoming unresponsive on a family road trip at age 12 or so, somewhere in Georgia, which is what happens to people from New York in Georgia, I've heard told, and/or to people on family road trips. I remember regaining consciousness to see

a man in white running at me with a wheelchair and urgent eyes, the mouth of the ER door 20 feet behind him gaping open overbright against fading daylight.


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