In My Head

by Daniel Stine

Sweltering heat, mirages promising water just at the horizon, I’m on my knees praying for a miracle when rain falls transforming the landscape into a tropical forest. I climb the nearest tree, grasp a thick vine and leap into the understory with a whooping call and as I reach the apex I let go, landing amidst a driving blizzard onto a dogsled led by five howling Alaskan Huskies. There’s a sack of gold nuggets strapped behind me and three other bobsled teams are chasing me, menacing me, trying to overtake me. I look back to take measure of their progress and find myself swerving to miss cars on Figueroa Street during rush hour. My pursuers have flashing red and blue lights, the LA rush hour is in full swing and there is a beautiful dame on the passenger side of my car spraying a hail of bullets at the coppers on my tail. She turns to look at me, her face glowing, the space around us transitions into an opulent hotel room with a giant king size bed, sheets askew and she is beckoning me as a persistent ringing sound breaks my workplace reverie.

6S

Daniel Stine's been around and he’s still spinning.