Guys Night Out

Six of us, eight bottles of wine, family-style Italian. I made a U-turn up 35th to end the night, and slept in Mike’s basement. Although I lived in his basement for a month 12 years ago, I don’t sleep right down there anymore. It’s like a cave, but I can’t sleep in it.

I dreamt about the weird neighbor’s cat, who got hit by a car this week and died. I only saw the cat once: a white, male Siamese. I pointed him out to Lily, but she couldn’t see him from the car-seat.

In my dream, he was pressed between two panes of glass. It was the same image my Yoga teacher used this week to describe how our bodies should be in Triangle pose (trikonasana).

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in Course Navigation, death, yoga and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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