Signs of trouble
- You announce to the room that you just don't feel like yourself today, and a small murmur of relief reverberates amongst your loved ones, including the cat and the dog, who look at each other and then look back at you.
- In the bustle of the farmer's market you overhear a voice say "...that pugnacious faggot..." and your first thought is that maybe it's a friend of yours talking about you. You look quickly in the direction from which the voice seemed to emanate, but all you see is a brittle grandmother palpating melons and a moody teen presiding over a wooden crate full of vaguely extraterrestrial-looking root vegetables. Later after a couple of rejuvenating Odwallas you incorporate the boy into a vivid sexual fantasy, a sweaty vision in which you are thumbing his perineum like someone impatiently pressing for a sluggish elevator, but then the melon hag makes an uninvited cameo appearance in the daydream, putting strong deflationary pressure on the economy of your southern states.
- You make the following diary entry: Fell in love today. The real thing. And this time I didn't need the powerful binoculars.