Conversation, immediately upon waking, semi-shouted down the hall to my son, past the noise of wild parrots and departing commuters, "I had an apocalypse dream last night."
"Were there zombies?"
"No, just weather. I was watching the apocalypse in Idaho with Val Kilmer."
"That would be a great name for a band...Watching the Apocalypse in Idaho With Val Kilmer."
Fireballs burst over the mountains, wire-thin lightning ran horizontally through the sky. Idaho was illuminated only by the storm. I was down to two bars on my cell phone.
The image of my mind and its information storage/retrieval system resembles old library card catalogs. But the drawers are metal, not golden oak, sized to fit small manilla coin envelopes. The gummed flaps on the sealed envelopes have become brittle, no longer closed. Their contents fly, in no apparent pattern, to the front desk and form stories. Or so it seems.