Ispend a lot of time in my head, lost in thought. It's something I have always done and it's been misunderstood by those around me the whole time. Teachers at Selma Street School would send occasional missives to my parents reporting that I spent a good bit of time daydreaming. If I had a nickel for every time anyone has chided me for "not listening," I could buy a mansion and a yacht. Those nickels continue to accrue today; the only thing that's changed is that I am now an adult, and these pseudo-fugue states, it turns out, are interior sessions that help shape bits of writing I may be considering.

Or, more likely, I'm just daydreaming. Who knows?

I've recently been seeing a snapshot of the past, one in which I am riding my bicycle up Deborah Street to the vacant lot where a cage had re

See Full Page