Rough start

Woke up this morning a bit unbalanced. A tune going through my head. Sat down, found a piece of paper, scrawled five horizontal lines across. Started writing quarter notes and eighth notes, still half-asleep. Weird because I haven't looked at sheet music in years. Lyrics too: "I'm not pay-ing at-tention. You're not to-tal-ly fine." I've never been much of a songwriter.

A dream started coming back to me. Ramshackle old building on a dusty road, two bars inside connected by a hallway, white wood paneling. Midday. Hungry, I went to one of the bars to get something to eat. The hallway, a closed door, a sign taped to it: "Private party". I checked the side door, saw a Hispanic man I knew sitting at the bar, he was wearing a checkered shirt. I waved, pointed to the closed door, and shrugged. He waved back, told me they'd let him in anyway. Chicken in a chile verde sauce, I smelled it. Went to the other bar. Girl who worked there, maybe thirteen, standing next to a table smoking a cigarette. Something familiar about her -- didn't know how exactly, but we'd spoken before. Two boys, both about six, were bothering her for a toke. She hesitated, gave the cigarette to the nearest one, told him, Only one toke. I realize, this is the girl from Carson McCullers' Heart is a Lonely Hunter -- the character Mick -- funny, I didn't even like that book, didn't even finish it, not even close.

At that point, the music started playing in my head and I woke up. 7:16 am, it's going to be a long day.