Recently, I woke up early in the morning. As I went into the bathroom to get ready, I saw a piece of paper with very crude, childlike writing on it. I could partially make it out, but what I made out didn’t make any sense. I stared at that for a long time, trying to figure out what it meant. That night when I got home from work, Carrie told me a story. The night before, I went to bed early. When she came into the bedroom, I spoke out loud, though I was clearly still asleep. I said, “We got a better Puerto Rican.” She thought that was so odd, she went into the bathroom to write it down, but all she had to write with was an eyebrow pencil, which explains why the writing was so crude. I would love to be able to tell what I was dreaming about that night, but I have no idea. Perhaps it was about baseball. Perhaps I dreamed the Astros got Carlos Beltran back...or someone better, the "better Puerto Rican." Sadly, the mystery of “We got a better Puerto Rican” will probably never be solved.