Announcement

Hello readers!  I have a little announcement.

So my story is quite far along, and what's happened in the story?  He likes dreams now, and he still doesn't have a girlfriend.

I know not much has really happened yet, but please just bare with me.  I guess in the beginning I tend to give it a lot of fluff.  Stuff should be happening pretty soon, and one of that "stuff" is something you won't even expect.  I so utterly believe this that I would bet money.  Seriously.  So please just stick around!

Comments on my story?  :P  I feel like I get so few of those.  LOL.

Chapter 9

I was walking.  And walking.  Then after that I walked some more.  I was in a dry, desolate desert.  It was completly lifeless.  Ahead of me was a very large dune, and a single rock, the only landscape miles ahead.

Why am I even here?  How did I get here?

Then I vaguely remembered what happened.. yes, yes.  It was a crash. An airplane crash.  And I was the only survivor.  I've been walking for days and days, so I ended up arriving here.

I leaned down to look at my feet.  My aching feet.  I didn't even recall the last time that I wasn't walking.  It felt like I was walking for days on end and nothing more.

Oh gosh, I definitly feel some blisters coming on.  If only I could stop!  But I just can't.

And to think I wasn't even looking at the road!  Surely that meant civilization!

But then I turned my head and I saw paradise, complete with water!  Boy was I thirsty, and sweating up bullets. 

Oh my llama!  It's a miracle!  It's beautiful!  Finally, fresh water, and I can cool down!  Oh, how I'd love to cool down!

I walked up to the little strip of paradise, and it surprisingly didn't disappear.  It was still there in front of me.  It was a dream (well, that's what I was thinking, really),  there were such beautiful flowers and towering palm trees.  And the greenest grass I've ever seen.  But that's not what I was interested in.  I wanted to go in the water.

So I took off my shirt and dived into the water.  It was very clear, and I saw nothing gross in it at all, there wasn't algae or anything.  There weren't even any fish!  Just crystal blue, clear water. When I got in the water, I let the water caress my aching bones, my blistery feet.  It felt so good.  I just wanted to put my head under and embrace it, and I drank and drank and drank...

I woke up.

Ah, another day with a dream without her.

It's been a few weeks, and I haven't had another dream about that girl since.  I know it's sounds silly, but I really have been wanting her to be in another one of my dreams.  That feeling. I wanted to feel that way again.

Well, the dream could have been worse.  Though I was so hot (yeah, it felt like I had sweat droplets on my forehead and everything), and so aching...Of course I loved teh dream overall, I mean, a tiny little paradise in the middle of a dry desert? Epic!  And it wasn't even a mirage.  The water just felt so incredibly nice...

But I still want her to be in my dream again.  No dream could ever surpass the feeling I had in that dream.

 .

As usual, I hopped on my laptop to check out what the dream dictionary had to tell me today.

Desert
To dream that you are walking through a desert, signifies loss and misfortune. You may be suffering from an attack on your reputation. Deserts are also symbolic of barrenness, loneliness and feelings of isolation and hopelessness. The desert landscape may also be a metaphor for feeling deserted and left behind.

Well, the first part was definitly wrong.  My rep is the same as it always has been.  But loneliness?  Um, yeah.  I like my whole semi dream hobby thing, but it doesn't exactly cure my feeling of loneliness.  Do I feel deserted and left behind?  I guess.  Jeff and Marshall have been 'getting lucky' lately with their girlfriends.  But I can't see it lasting forever.  I'm surprised that they are still going out.

I knew not to look up 'mirage' since technically the paradise wasn't a mirage, it really was there.  But I'm sure that would represent false thoughts or something.  But since it didn't disappear....Ow, my head hurts. 

I decided that I should make us some breakfast.  I didn't really feel like making pancakes, or waffles or the like, I am just not in the mood.  Just another boring day in the life of me.  Woo.

"Hey, hey, hey!  Come on down you guys!"

If I don't wake them up now, then they'll just sleep till noon.  But I can't let them do that, now can I?  Besides, it's 8:30.  It's not that early.  Besides, they always come down when I tell them to.  They're pretty much good at that.  Pretty much.  At least they have to be.

Well, Marshall was down pretty quickly.  Dressed and everything.  It doesn't take much to put a beanie on and to slip on a sweatshirt jacket (and yet, he doesn't look ugly).

Marshall is usually pretty good with being woken up (lucky for me he's a light sleeper, so he has no problem hearing me yell to him).

"Good morning sleepy head!"

Gah, I love rubbing it in!

"Yeah, yes...good morning Alex."

He tends to have grudges when I wake him up.  But I just go with it.  It's so awesome to be the first up!

"So glad you can make it!!  Your cereal is ready for you to de-vour!"

I love being like this in the morning!  It's not that I'm a morning person, more like I am more of a morning person than my friends so I can rub it in.

"Well...this is nice, thanks for breakfast Alex."

Being the more considerate one of the group, Marshall tends to thank me when I make food (almost for every meal...) even if he's not excited about it.  He's most likely thanking, gee thanks for pouring me cereal Alex.  I most certainly couldn't have done that myself.

"Um..yeah, no problem..."

Marshall is too nice for his own good sometimes.

Then came Marshall, a little bit later, but at least he was here.  He has...never been good at concealing his sleepiness.  Clearly he was extra sleepy today, his eyes were so strange.  He is sometimes a drama queen anyway.  But at least he was fully dressed, and didn't come down in his boxers.

"Yeah, so thanks for waking me up.  Alex.  You could've at least waited till ten to wake me.  But no.  You always insist on waking us up when you're ready for us to be up!"

Though that comment did sound rude/mean, I just can't take it seriously.  Not only is he being a drama queen and exagerating it, but when he's sleepy, he takes it out on me or Marshall.

"Glad to see you're up too, Jeff!  Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?  Or was it a bad dream?"

What did a dream have to do with him being sleepy?  I don't know.  I am always thinking about my dreams, so sometimes it slips into my speech... I haven't even told them yet about my dream thing.  They....would...be quite judgemental about it.

Jeff sat down to eat his toast.

"Really, Alex, what is it with you and dreams lately?  You keep mentioning them in your strange comparing thing of yours.  What's the deal? They have nothing to do with what we ever talk about."

"Oh-it's just...never mind.  It's nothing."

"You sure, man?"

"...Yes."

Gah, I can't tell Jeff!  And I knew why Marshall wasn't talking.  He doesn't like to get into this kind of stuff.  He is a purely drama-free man.  If this actually is considered drama.  Well, he doesn't like to jump into these types of conversations.

I continued to eat my cereal.  Mmm...regular cheerios.  It's just so...yummy...

I really wish I had the types of friends who I could just tell anything to.  Mentioning dreams to them in and of itself would be....awkward.  But if I mentioned the girl and my feelings in my dream for her?  And that I am obsessed with wanting a dream with her in it again?  They'd think I'm a complete insane freak.  Heck, I'd have to go to an insane asylum.

Oh, don't go there.  I would not go to an insane asylum.

I didn't want to go there not just because 'hello, it's an insane asylum', but also because it reminds me of what happened to my grandparents.  Except they had to go to a nursing home at a young age.

"You know, me and Trista, Marshall and Stella are going to hang out for lunch.  Do you want to join us?"

Well, he obviously forgot about our previous conversation.  He sometimes talks inappropriatly/rudely/asks me stuff I don't want to answer, but usually he forgets about it two seconds later.  Which is good for me.

"Nah man, you guys have fun."

Gosh, I really wonder if Marshall and Stella...and Trista and Jeff ever hang out alone, just the two of them.  They are always on double dates.  The guys are so close knit, and so are the girls, so it doesn't even faze them to split.  I would never do that, I can't imagine even wanting to go on a double date.  If I ever get a girlfriend, I will usually want to go to places alone with her.  And I really don't want to be a fifth wheel with two couples.  It's even more awkward than hanging out with one couple.  MY LIFE!

After work, I played some video games with them (after I influenced them to say goodbye to their clingy girlfriends).  I just wish times could always be like this with the guys.  It was so much more fun when we hung out in middle school, just staring at the girls walking by and making up plans to get girlfriends, and failing miserably in the process.  The good old days when we always hung out, doing guy stuff, without girls around.  And now I'm falling behind, I have for a while now.  I just need a girl to get to their level.

Controller in hand, it was all good.  I just wish things could always go like this.  I wish Marshall and Jeff would break up with their girlfriends, like that would ever change.  I can't switch back the clock now.  It's too late.

Chapter 8

A few weeks pass, and something significant happens, as nothing significant ever happens in my life.  Only, it seems, when dreams came into my life: has it gotten any more interesting.  So of course, I am speaking about a dream.

I was running.  Running and running and running.  Two cops were speeding after me, and I had no clue why. The only thing I could think was, Does Mr. Simmons have anything to do with this?  I continued to run even though I knew the inevitable.  The only reason I could run like this is from going on the treadmill.  I know that.  And heck, I hate running.  I much prefer speed walking.  But, I don't have a choice, do I?

One of the people running after me-a man- seemed to be running straight through air, as if he was continually popping a balloon.

I continued to run and run, and I wasn't getting tired at all.  But the strange thing was, I could feel myself slowing down.

No, no, I can't slow down now!  Who knows what the cops will do to me!  No, no-don't go there.  They won't catch me!  I am coming to an intersection-I can lose them there!  I can flag a car down to run over them!

Too bad I was thinking so illogically, otherwise I'm sure I could've out smarted them.

I continued to run and run, and I started to pass 'my' school.

No, no.  They won't catch me!  If they catch me-I'll be admitting defeat.  I will just be as weird as everyone in school used to say.

Sure they thought I was weird when I asked questions that were nearly irrelevant (you know, the questions that a person just wants to know but aren't necessary for a test.  I was the only one that way in school), but not many kids thought I was super weird.  I wasn't an outcast.  Just a few select people didn't like me because of that, and my analogies.  Other than that, I was just as liked as the next guy.

Focus, focus!  Stop slowing down-I must speed up!  I will not let this happen to myself.  DON'T STOP!  I can't afford to slow down!

Soon, I was starting to run into a park, and they were quickly catching up to me.

I couldn't run any faster.  I was slowing down.  It was like two giant bricks were placed on my feet-and a giant's invisible hand was obstructing my speed.

They were coming so close, I knew...this is the end.  I must admit defeat!  I have failed.  Failed!  I must admit defeat.  I am a loser like everyone used to say!

But then I blinked, and I wasn't dead.  The park was gone.  The cops were gone.  The bricks were lifted off my feet, the hand was gone.  I was standing in paradise.

Around me, I saw a beach, palm trees, crystal blue water, the whole bit.  But that's not what I was paying attention to.  There were some other guys in front of me, some of which looked strange.  One was a rocker that belonged in a heavy metal concert, and another looked like an old fashioned French man or something... And another guy that must have dyed his hair.  It obviously wasn't his color!  And just some plain Joe.  But they weren't paying attention to me.  I looked up.  And I saw what they were staring at.

It was a girl.  She was brilliant, my eyes were drawn to her.  Her features glowed.  I unfortuanatly couldn't really make out her face, but it didn't matter.

She was walking toward us guys.  All of them were oogling her with extreme interest in the same way I was.  They were in awe-I was in awe.

But then, she passes all of them, and she comes to me.  Even though I'm in the back.  Slowly, elegantly, she walked toward me.  Her features glowed, but her face seemed to lack emotion.  But instead, I found myself drawn to her.  I let her come to me.

She comes up to me, starts to take me in her arms like it was nothing.  Her hand was so close to my cheek-I was so close to carressing her upper arm.  She was going to kiss me.

Finally, I'm going to get my first kiss and this time I'm not going to pass out!  I don't feel woozy at all.  Sure I feel butterflies from her extreme elegance, but I feel firm.

But the dream slipped from my fingertips.  Reluctantly, I got up, crying inside that I could not finish the kiss that I had begun.

But I decided I had no interest in getting up.  I just went back on my bed and sat.  I just wanted to think about the feeling.  She was bright, vibrant somehow.  Looking back, I knew that I would never feel like that in real life.  I guess the feeling was exagerated in my dream.  It was like I had no choice.  She was going to kiss me whether I liked it or not-at least that's what I felt like.  She wouldn't take no for an answer.  It was like something was drawing me toward her.  And that wasn't just her appearance.

I didn't even bother to look it up on the dream dictionary today.  It was quite obvious why I dreamt about what I did-my life lacks romance and I want it.  No more to it.  And the police?  I could care-a-less about that.

Later, I went to my parent's house since it's Sunday.  A lot of Sundays I go to their house for dinner.

My dad is an author.  He is pretty shy, but he's still a good guy.  That's why sometimes I prefer to talk with Mr. Simmons, he is certainly not shy like my dad.  The problem is we are pretty opposite that's all.  It's not like he's going to understand my analogies or how I am okay with attention.  He's too smart for that-and shy.

And my mother, I mean, I guess I could talk to her, but she isn't much better than dad.  She was the biggest outcast ever in school, and was pretty shy herself.  She's an artist.  That's actually how she met dad!  My dad's brother- uncle Otto-asked her to paint for them.  He and his brother used to live in a big house, but when my parents just got married they wanted to live somewhere else and let Otto live there with my other uncle, Stephan.

"Come in, come in!  Glad to see you've made it on time."

"Dad-I always make it on time."

Dad's always joking about me making it on time and not being late, like it's supposed to be funny.  But it's not, and it's getting old.  I think I may have been later once.  And if you knew my dad-he remembers everything and won't let anything go.  There are few exceptions.

"Yesturday I finished a painting.  It's called "Snowy Forest in the Middle of Winter". It's over there."

She pointed behind her near the stairs.

My mom loves to paint and she's great at it-but unfortuanatly, she's really bad with coming up with names for her paintings.  My author of a dad helps her with that, or me.

"It looks lovely mother!  But how about "Icy Snow"?  Less wordy."  I just love abstract names that describe what it's describing which makes it become obsolete.

"Erm-yeah, that's nice."

My parents, bless them, they always try to understand my strange analogies, if that's what this would be called.

"I am working on a new book called "A Day of the Life of Benji Putton."  It's a comedy about a man and his dog-and the trouble that follows them.  I should be done in a few months."

"That's nice, dad.  Maybe I could read it sometime?"

Too bad my dad is nothing like me, or he could really help me with...the way that I am in which I cannot change.  Because with how he is, he wouldn't understand the last part of the last sentence.  Even though it makes perfect sense.  He is one of those 'I'm really smart, but I only try to understand things that make good, logical sense' guys.

Not too much later, the delivery guy came with our food.

My parents have never been that good at cooking.  My dad used to have a butler because they're so rich-but it was all inherited.  They like a little bit of a simpler life now.  And my mother...well, she has a long story but she never had to cook when she lived with dad and my uncles.

I grabbed some turkey (MMMM) while I continued to stare at "Icy Snow".  The white had such a brilliant color.  Even the grays and blues of the painting looked neat.  It reminded me of my dreams-just the general feel of it.  I'm staring at it-and if I were in that painting, it would be the same as a dream.  I'm in it, but not truly in it.  While in my head in dreams- I feel apart of the dream world, yet there's a certain detathc-ed-ness.

"But how have you been, Alex?  I'm sorry, your mother and I have been talking about ourselves, we forgot to ask about you!  You seemed to be especially happy today!  Why are you so happy, son?"

Of course I am happy because I'm still thinking about the dream, the girl.  But mostly I was thinking about the feeling that came with seeing the girl.

"Oh, yes...It was a dream..."

I have mentioned to them recently my new-found interest in dreams.  They're the only ones that know.  I just can't tell Jeff or Marshall... Cause they're them. They did the parent bullshit- 'That's so nice that something is staring to spark your interest!  I'm glad that you found a hobby you like'.  Not that dreaming really is a hobby. So pretty much they were just saying that just because they're my parents and they have too.  I could see in their eyes that they weren't really interested in my new 'hobby'.  But at least they didn't think it was weird.  They were just uninterested.

Well, that conversation didn't go so well to say the least.  We all stared at our plates and chowed down.  We didn't utter a word.  My parents just don't like dreams at all, and they won't admit it.  I don't know why.  If they just get a chance to read into them, and look at them for what they're trying to tell us.  It's not like I could persuade them to like them-they're getting old, they're too set in their ways.

But that was okay-I didn't really feel like talking to them anymore.  I just wanted to continue to day dream about my wonderful, wonderful dream.  It was probably my best dream I ever had-even though it was unfinished.

Chapter 7

I left to go to Neverglade.  It was quite a long trip, and I was practically falling asleep at the wheel.  Luckily, I had generic radio music to keep me entertained.  It's not that I don't love music, it's just...music.  That's all.  I was driving as if I was in a haze.  I just went, I had to be somewhere, and I did it without thinking.  Because of this, time flew by.

Soon enough, I arrived at Honey Oaks Nursing Home-it doesn't matter when I get the records, as long as I do sometime today.  And it's a good time to arrive at the nursing home-10:00 sharp is when my grandparents prefer to get up.  When you're a kid, you wake up at 7, as a teen you wake up at 6, though you wish to get up at 10.  Adults don't care (older adults), and then old people again go to waking up late.  At least that's the case for my grandparents.

As I went in, I noticed a man sitting on one of the benches of its nice, big porch.  Really, it's quite a nice nursing home, but still, it's a nursing home.  My grandparents don't have to be here-they aren't demented, or physically weak.  They're definitly the most-dare I say it-alive people at the nursing home.  Most people just are there, staring at nothing, watching tv, or creeping throughout the home.  They don't often talk much.  My grandparents are totally not like that.  Sometimes, they just talk too much.  They're the type of grandparents that want to give you all the advice they can.

I arrived to tell the secretary that I was here to see my grandparents.  Though I have come here a lot all in all, she still doesn't know my name.  That's not because she's bad at remembering names, but because I only am able to come here a few times a year.  This place isn't exactly lively.

"Hello Mrs. Daubry.  I'm here to see Mr. and Mrs. Evans."

She typed something in her computer, most likely saying that I was checked in.  This place as so many formatlities.  I can't even leave with them without her consent.

"Yes, what is your name, sir?"

"Alex Evans."

"Thank you, remember to check out when you leave."

"Yes of course, thank you.  Have a nice day."

"Yes, you too."

Gosh, the formalities here kill me!  Like Mr. Simmons, I don't always like to be so formal (but isn't that natural for a 22 year old man?), but not really as unformal as Mr. Simmons.  I'm in the middle.

When I went upstairs, I noticed the cold hallway to my left.  Since my grandparents were...brought here against there will for an unusual reason, they were able to get a special room.  I'm not sure if it's because they were scared of them (llama knows why they'd be scared of them!) or who knows what.  But their room is well decorated, and they were able to get a queen sized beds.  The other rooms have single beds and are really bland and small.  Also, their room is apart from all the rest, and their room is by one of the stay in nurses (I don't know, some nurse that doesn't have a life or a home, or both).  They keep an eye on them, and I don't know why.  I was never told why they were taken here.  I don't think I'll ever be told.  After all, I am 22, so I'm pretty much all grown up.

When I got in their room, they were lying on their bed, watching one of those soap operas with no end (to me they're like a never ending dream where there is supposedly a future but you never see it).

"Hi Grandma and grandpa!  Surprise.  I was able to come in because I'm in on business."

"What is that Mr. Simmons makin you do this time?"

Grandpa Joel doesn't really like Mr. Simmons.  He thinks he runs me ragged since I always tell him the bad things about him and my job (as he always associates him with everything to do with my job).

Though my job is usually 'eh', I always feel the need to defend Mr. Simmons.  The job's a living, but Mr. Simmons is nice, "Oh, nothing much. Don't blame him!  I volunteered to come here.  I am going to pick up some records.  I decided to pick them up for him so I could visit you guys!"

"Oh, well, then I'm glad you came then!"

Grandma spoke up, "Why did he want you to drive here to get the records?  There's a thing called UPS!"

Grandpa and I at the same time said, "He's a cheapstake."

Grandma really wanted to change the subject, "How about we go outside and enjoy this beautiful day?"

I waited for them to get up so we could go.  Their speed is ten times faster than any other old person living here.  Why are they here?

This place is a total paradise.  But not an elders paradise, because these people living here are so old they aren't able to fully enjoy it.  They sit on the benches and stare at the scenery sometimes, but usually they just sit on benches inside, or lay on their beds.  Weather is unpredictable.  But the warm heat inside is always set at precisely 72 degrees.  I wish it was always that warm in my house.

We all sat on the bench,

"How have you guys been?"

I knew it wouldn't be polite to ask them the question I always wish I could, 'why are you guys even here?  Why were you ever taken here?'  Sure I believe some old people should be in nursing homes when they get old, and I'm not sure how old that would be, but grandma and grandpa are definitly not old enough-they certainly don't act like they're 90 like everyone else here.  They're only like 78, or something like that.  And they act much younger than that to me.

"Oh, the usual.  Not much.  So little occurs here.  Bob has been under bed rest.  He's had a fever for about two weeks, and he will pass soon, but it's nothing we're not used to.  After a while, we just become numb by all the death that passes here.  That's the reason why we don't try to make friends here.  Who knows when they could pass."

In the nursing home, they've always been loners.  Literally loners-just loners together.  Sometimes I feel as though I'm a loner, even though I have two great friends.  They're the seeds of the peach, and I'm the skin.  One in the same, yet so far.

Grandma is always the positive one, as usual she decided to switch topics, "how has your life been going, Alex?  Your job, your friends, any ladies yet?"

I became rather depressed when she asked about ladies.  It's like I want one really badly, but I'm not desperate enough to settle.  And too lazy to look for the right one.

"Well, my job is just the usual.  Just the same people as there's always been, I sell things, but usually I don't.  My friends both have girlfriends, but of course I don't have one.  No one gets me.  Not a one."

I wasn't comfortable bringing up my dreams I've been having-that that's getting me through life lately.  It's a very liberal idea, dream interpretation and all that.  And usually grandparents aren't liberal.  They aren't super conservative either, but I wasn't willing to bet that they'd understand that.

"Oh, Alex.  I'm sorry that your life hasn't been working out the way you want.  You could always find a new job-there will be a girl to understand you one day.  I know it."

I rolled my eyes.  "Yeah, and how do you 'know it'?"

"Oh, let's just say I feel it in my bones!  My bones.  But not the bones in my hips.  My hips aren't what they used to be."

Sometimes, I just wish I could laugh at grandma.  Some things she says are so irrelevant, and she loves to make fun of herself being old.

"Yeah yeah, thanks grandma..."

There wasn't anything I could say in reply to that.  But I do know one thing:  they always seem to be right.  Let's hope that their streak won't be broken this time.

"How about we go in the pool?"

It's pretty nice.  My grandparents are the only people that ever go into the pool here.  It's a nice sized pool, and yet they're the only ones to enjoy it.  I don't even know why there's a pool here if everyone is too old to use it.  They even like to hold their breaths as a contest sometimes.  They are not normal 78 year olds.

We were swimming for a while, and soon it was lunch time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don't even know why I decided to eat lunch here.  I have no clue what white mush we got, but I ate it, though I gagged the whole time.  Oh well, I don't have to eat here that often.

As I passed a room, I couldn't help but look inside.  The rooms are very bland, in shades of gray and brown.  The only color in the room is in the tacky floral bedspreads.  All of the rooms look the same.  I would hate to live in a place like this, I don't know how my grandparents stand it.  They're always quite positive even though they live in this house with the almost dead.

I was quite done with being here after lunch, so I decided I wanted to go somewhere, anywhere here. 

"Would you guys like to do something, or should I get the records now?"

You'd think that they'd want to get out of this horrible place...

"No, no thank you, Alex.  It's almost craft hour.  I have to finish my bird house!"

They're pretty much the only people that ever show up for the planned activities.

"Oh-ok, then I'll go get the records."

I really don't know what to expect of this records place.  Where would I pick them up?

I noticed an old man come out of the elevator.  He, like many of the people here, was wearing pyjamas, crappy clothes, whatever you want to call it.  He wore a perfect sneer.  Gosh, what's wrong with the people here?  It's like they're all brain washed.

"Hello Mr. Daubry, I would like to go now.  Please check me out-I'm..."

For once, she knew my name.  She smiled a slight smile (she's a very boring lady-her monotone tells me so).

"Yes, I got you checked out Mr. Evans.  Have a nice day."

"You too."

I just wanted to leave this place right away-it gives me the creeps and it smells like death.

Well, I arrived at the address on my phone (Mr. Simmons texted me the address), and it was odd inside.  Empty. To my left I noticed some lockers.  Who knows how old they were-they were quite rusty.  But the whole room was startingly clean-as if some robot comes in here to clean it, because the place seemed desserted.

To my right were barrels and boxes, as though these were orders for other people that ordered something musical, because I'm assuming this place doesn't only sell records, but possibly other antique music type things.

Then I saw a box directly in front of me on the counter.  On top were some records, and there was a note. 

Hello.  This package is for Mr. Simmons.  Thank you and have a good day.  You may leave the 500 simoleons on the table.  Thank you and come again!  I hope you liked our products.

Sincerely, My Tunes, Your Tunes International

That certainly was strange.  Who leaves a note when you pick up a package?  Who TRUSTS you to leave money?  Who knows, this makes no sense.  But I did leave the money, and I brought the box to the car.

After that, I decided I would go on this path I saw.  It just looked so pretty, and it was really nice out.  It's certainly an improvement to that old nursing home.

I soon found myself at a cute little park.  I went on the swing and I swung, acting care free, forgetting my problems as though I were a kid again.  If only my problems-my fears, insecurities, my complete feeling of alienation-would disapear.