Mom is evil. She bought cream puffs. I ate six. Then later I had a chocolate donut. *oink, oink* It's eleven o'clock and my internal clock says it way past that, so my old and good friends know what that means. I guess I'll just start now. I have a feeling this is going to be one of those weird, acid-trip entries. Buckle up. I'm cruising on a subway, staring vacantly out a window smeared with finger prints of others who made their mark some time ago. A dirty window, stained and smudged, but still good enough to see out of if only the world would settle. Images blur by in the blink of any eye; don't blink, you'll miss it; and whoever can hold their breath through to the end of the tunnel gets a wish come true; or dies trying. Chewed and age-old ABC gum clings to the bottom of my seat, dry but still sticky, losing its touch but still holding on; colorless, flavorless, worthless, unwanted. I reach into my bag for a fresh piece. Chomp, chomp, chomp, blow, blow, blow, POP--Subway crashes and we all fall out, file out, spill out, singing songs to accompany the pennyless guitar player at the end of the road, sitting with his life in his lap and his hope in an unlocked case; lined in velvet for protection; softness as his sheild. Angels hover through the passageways, trapped in tunnels, labrynths; a life in Limbo, bending backwards for reasons they'll never know. And the travelers move in tunnels; keep the noise down; everyone looking for the light at the end. I detoured. The flashing lights were appealing to me so I yanked the chord and drew the bus to a stop. Daylight met me on the last step; last hope; last chance. And right then my hope was sparked like a match; struck to life and glowing, exploding and calming, breathing and growing. I walked to my limits until someone put me out; someone licked their fingers and lightly squeezed, compressed, a small whimper escaping before the mystified smoke trail sent signals from the head; a warning? a calling? a line? Clink, clink, pat, pat, clink; the rythm of a New York City walk; Cinderella traded in the glass slippers for red stilettos and let the coast rake through her wild hair. At the top of libertly, standing in her crown; a throne; I looked out and shouted out his name and listened as the world hushed, in dire need to know who would reply. Back down in the subway, waiting in line, the ticket counter tolling and the cold floor consistently being pounded on, I disrupted the wake and stood still, curious to know who would follow. The subway screached along the rails, slowing to a stop, its pocket doors flying open in quick exchange. "Where to?" I was asked. Where to. Where to. I handed over my money; my life; and said, "Surprise me." Carrie