Two half brain lobe split fractured separated + the strawberry jam tastes like it did ______ summers ago- I know technically we don’t know each other yet but it still tastes like the back of your neck might.  You are a massive and snarling and beautiful beast. Or maybe I am- will be. Might be sometimes. Anyway, it’s too hot for anything but toast and diluted pink lemonade, and I can’t hear anything you’re saying from across the room like that- it’s like being inside a dream, trying to warn or plead or something but your feet won’t move and your throat is swelling shut. Are you at all familiar with that feeling?