So it's late at night, and I chop up a heart of romaine, put it in a bag, and mix in oil and vinegar, and return to my computer to eat it and make mostly vacuous Internet conversation. It's about 1:30 in the AM. Nothing special. Then someone calls my parents. This leads to one of the most astonishing, ethereal experiences of my life.

I hear my dad's coming downstairs. Knowing he'd be upset I'm up at such an hour, I lie in bed. I munch on my salad under the sheets. I finish, leaving nothing in the bag but warm oil and vinegar.

After playing with the bag a bit I partially open it and slowly relish in the contents. Sure, this will bother my stomach later, but I don't care. I'm totally in the moment. It's fucking zen, man. The bag and I are one entity as I partake in its nectarous contents. I suckle the bag as a baby suckles its mother's bare breast.

Then I realize that, unlike babies, I cannot drink and breathe at the same time, as oil and vinegar flood my windpipe.

Matt is three

My son, Matt cavorts through the toy cluttered house, his patent devil may care grin framed by light green eyes and handsome straight hair. He desperately wants to play in the pouring rain but a recent bout with pnuemonia closes that road to him. "Dad, I love you.", sweetly said as he climbs into my once child free lap. He pats the back of my head encouragingly , a steaming cup of coffee, refreshingly free of cream or sugar, just beyond his reach.

"Dad, I want to play on the computer!", loudly whispered in my ear. Matt taps the keys of my auction bought laptop forcefully as if comprehension for my good, strong son arrives with simple tactile response. I was enjoying my round of Star Kingdoms too...alas love is blind. Matt likes Asteroids.

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