6 am

You're in your mother's womb, sitting on a bench in the terminal, waiting for the bus that will get you out of this burg .  You've been looking forward to this day for a long time.  You've got no particular destination in mind, you just want out. You go to the help desk and ask the attendant, "Which route should I take?"  In a very nonchalant manner, as if your question has no gravitas at all, she says, "It doesn't really matter, they're all going to the same place."  You're confused, anxious, annoyed, so you ask the obvious follow up question, "And where's that?"  She looks up from the stack of papers papers that she randomly shuffles, rolls her eyes, sighs an exaggerated sigh, and says in a tone that implies you are just one more idiot, interrupting her trance,  breaking the rhythm of her data shuffle, "The big wide world."  

What a snot, you think, what a fooking snark this woman is, and you go back to your bench to wait.  You think about writing a big long letter to the department of transportation, you begin drafting it in your head and simultaneously you dream a weird little dream.  You are sitting in a high chair, munching on a hairball.  Not exactly a hairball, a wadded up tissue entwined with strands of dark brown hair.  A depressed woman is sitting next to you, her head hung, her body slack.  You notice she is wearing a campaign button that says "Mother".  You ask this mother person, "Where did this hairball come from anyway?"  She tells you, "The trash."   You throw it away in disgust and ask her to get you a clean one, one that doesn't come from the trash.  She looks up at you.  You see her face for the first time and realize she is the paper shuffler.  It all begins to make sense.  It's a setup.

(work in progress)