My mind takes snapshots of its surroundings. No kidding. I can see them once and once alone though, and only for a split second, and then, poof!, they disappear. And I really just wish I could save them, just record them and file them away for later viewing.

Like the old man coming out of the drugstore last week—snap!—and I get one of the sunlight surprising a man’s scrunched face.

Or yesterday, as I was driving, catching eyes with a girl—snap!—I get a wide-eyed face hinting of interest maybe, attraction. I’ll never know.

Or turning a corner, seeing a couple bicker, and—snap!—an angry man, leaning forward in a berating fashion, eyes nearly closed.

But the snapshots of my eyes, my life; no matter how good they are, I can never hold on to them, they always fade away.

The window at the booth of the Taco Bell we sat at was covered with tiny flies. Flies so tiny that my friend confused them for gnats. But, no doubt, they were flies. Tiny flies. And I had never seen tiny flies before.

Their nest must have been close by. Because I killed three in one swipe of my napkin, and the general window-covering population wasn’t affected a bit.

I’m just trying to say, that I’m happy I saw some tiny flies.

My nap today—naps are the joy of my life—was strange. Well a part of it was, at least. Here:

I dreamt this. At least I think I did, I cannot say for certain. Anyways, I was driving a car, absent-mindedly of sorts, and all of a sudden, right in front of me: a big hunk of roadkill. Only right as I’m about to smash into it, it flinches. Its stomach is shredded open, its guts are scattered all over the place, but it still flinches; it’s still alive; its head moves towards me.

And right then, I woke up with my mouth spread in horror and my eyes filled with dread.

But even this last part, I can’t say for certain if I was actually awake or not; I could have been dreaming this part, too.

It boggles my brain.

A tiny, green bug once landed on my shoulder. It idled there for quite a while. It didn't leave. And then I thought... Oh boy! I'm like those one of those tough guys who walk around with falcons on their shoulders! Only instead of a falcon, I have a tiny, green bug. But no matter, it's my tiny, green bug.

And I played with it in my hands, and it scurried from finger to finger, oh, ever so quickly. A hyper tiny, green bug, that tiny green bug of mine was.

But then I put it back on my shoulder, and (to my despair) it flew away, into the hair of the guy in front of me, and apparently its tiny green legs itched this guy, and without any investigation, he swatted it, and then it dropped to the ground.

Dead.

Lady just called me by the name of my brother. In a flash of neurons firing, I opted to let it slide, to not say that that isn't my name, that my name is Trevor. But thank God, she corrected herself, and I didn't have to perpetrate a lie.

Mother was boiling spaghetti in the toilet, and I asked her why in the world she was doing that, that’s gross; she looked at me like I was the village idiot.

.

This is probably an unoriginal idea… but I was just thinking, you know how death is this great unknown, this thing, that nobody can get a handle on?

Well, what if, really, we catch a glimpse—just a glimpse—of death, each and every night?

You know, we fall asleep, and feel nothing, and then wake up, and in that time, we didn’t exist—we died.

And so death is really, just that familiar.

Well, what do you think?