I don't really know.... This has gotten quite surreal... Like, when you're standing on your lawn, and it feels lumpy. A kid rides by on his bike, and his bike makes bike sounds, bike sounds you remember, changed a bit in model but bike sounds nonetheless. Suddenly you see the mailbox flag up and you realize that the lumps in your lawn are just like everything else.... surreal... or cereal, but you ate the last of that this morning and now you’re standing on your lawn with no shoes and loose pants and your t shirt not quite long enough, smoking a cigarette even though you really don't want to. It's just that little bit of pop culture left inside you. Every house looks like every other house. The sun is glinting of windows, and you stare straight at the bright spot, even though it hurts your eyes. It's annoying, just like the lumps in the lawn. One time, you remember, you saw the skull of a small animal; you wonder if that's what the lumps are. You wonder if your skull is going to end up being the cause of someone's lumpy lawn. You imagine there won't be lawns in a short time, just fiber optic green grass simulations. Kentucky Bluegrass. You've never been to Kentucky, it's just part of a bad song you used to find funny when you were young and stupid and drove a truck that had a name. You've been staring at the light reflected off the window. You don't know it but the people inside wonder what exactly you're staring at. A teenage girl wonders if it's her boobs. Coincidently, you are thinking about teenage boobs, but you're always thinking about teenage boobs, aren't you. As you become aware of your staring, the light burning holes into your eyes, you realize it hurts and you stare at your feet. Your feet have gotten more veined, and you're somehow proud of it. Your eyes hurt, but so do your feet. The lumps in the lawn are pressing into them. You stand unevenly and waver because of the unevenness of the lumps. You eventually try a karate pose to compensate, the same ego that makes you smoke making you do so. You just fall down though. You don't even know what karate is. You lay there, in your white t shirt with a speed shop logo and your black cotton pajama bottoms, the cigarette still perched on you lip, staring up at the sky. The sun now directly invades you vision. There’s no one up there to wonder why you’re staring. The lumps in the lawn are starting to hurt your back. You sing a little song. A Doo Be Doo Be Doo.