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.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Just Wait a Little Longer
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