RRIIINNNGGG! Jump into the air. Juan has the bb gun. Answer the ringing sorrow machine. "Meet me where we keep the elephants. 12 minutes sharp."

Grab a bowl of babaganoush and slide to where we keep the elephants, the class action law suit and all of its components rattling in my head. Strobe lights tell me to give up my precious green slips for better strobe lights, while the man in the mirror who is not me whispers "buy, buy, buy."

Juan is waiting for me. Stare at him for a good long time. He is not a person. Not really. He hands me the bb gun.

Juan is someone best described as an entity.

I love that thing so much, that entity.

I leave and never see him again.

The train is boarding in ten quadlets (for the hour of minutes has past, quadlets are trending now). I must go to the train and make haste. I have an appointment with the future.

He wears long gray socks, has a vein that runs from his temple to his kneecaps, and knits the creepy old stuffed items that one never buys in stores.

There is a clatter as the door is broken down and the man walks in. He wears form-fitting guard leotard. "Turd," he announces, and leaves. I wait for the rats to arrive to fix my door, and then, when they have arrived, I rush off to the train.

"Password?"

"Fuck you."

"Welcome aboard."

"Access code for command center?"

Displays middle finger

"Please enter as you desire."

My car is the purple one, made out of the jelly and prayer flags. I sit down, have a long and stressful meeting with the future, and then display my badge. He leaves.

"How come I have no friends?" I ask.

"Because you are a miserable piece of shit," says the custodial engineer.

Gregory owns a house in Beverly Hills, doesn't he?

I thought he did.

I could have sworn he did.

Wake up. Enter the room with lots of little dots and foam in it. Pretend to be sane, per usual. Let them poke my eyes and prod my nose. They know I don't exist.

Everyone knows that.