I'm back working the concession stand again.
The hot dog steamer is dripping like crazy and the deep fryer is smoking pretty bad. Kids are lined up yelling for lattes and croissants but all we have are YooHoos and licorice whips.
Mr. Eckschek is asking for my math assignment from last week and I can't find my drivers license. The league commissioner wants me to spread the mayo around more cause the buns are stale.
Lots of chatter in the stands, some of it ugly. The blue team has this tall black guy pitching strike after strike. The red team has some chick in a parka pinch-hitting. Their base coaches are jumping up and down and yelling, but nobodys on base.
I step out back for a smoke and realize I can't cause my folks are in the stands. Sis's boyfriend pulls up in a Lincoln Continental, dripping oil bad, five guys in suits with him. He passes me something to read in speech class.
I go back inside but its actually into the living room and theres people all over the lawn. I turn the sprinklers on and they scatter but the papers soaked and the want ads fall apart in my hands. The other houses are all empty and I'm alone by a big crack in the street. I can't see the bottom and my wallet falls in.
There's a crescent moon and that damn Mr. Bojangles song is playing from somewhere. I start running but the street goes up and down like crazy and I fall into a snow bank just as a big chunk of ice land in front of me.
I roll over and wake up sweating. I'd slept 15 minutes, maybe.