there was this nap, see;
The car insurance office calls with a message that they needed my payment TODAY. I leave schoolwork and arrive at the house where I am staying with my 8th grade English teacher or aunt and climb climb climb past dusty uneven boxes of books, wooden furniture, other people's bathrooms, to my attic room - so tired - and fall down for a soft couch white bedspread like an old woman's shawl nap so tired. As I doze THE RATS grow bold and curious and hungry; time and again I wake to face a gray rat, a beige rat, or both, and their positions change but I never see them move a muscle. Or; wait I'm dreaming - of dreaming - of rats - of napping. The rats are the dream, and if I look up I can't see them in my peripheral vision. If I look down my eyes close and I can't move, that old sleep paralysis, and I dream of, what if the rats and wake from the dream within the dream of rats. And other recursive dreams, fair and unfair women, limbo fairy fogbanks, a bright carnival-fair.
The phone rings the opening notes of the famous Bach toccata & fugue. We need your payment NOW. I pull myself to all fours, then erect and downstairs. The sun is bright and my hosts' highschooler girlfriends - I don't want to breathe my stale sleepy breath on them. Crosstown - two-family suburbs and corner delicatessens, lured by sexy promise in my insurance agent's secretary cellphone chatterbox.