Hey Matt,

I know we haven’t spoken in awhile, but you know I’m always thinking about you around this time each year. I wanted to tell you about this dream I had. I don’t remember many of my dreams, so when I do, I figure they must have some significance. But who the hell am I, Freud? You’re the philosopher, dude.

Anyway, I was snuggling Sophie into bed and drifted off to sleep. She’s been waking up in the middle of night and this has been doing a number on me. I had some shit to do late at night, so I was happy to catch a quick catnap before I “hit the old grind stone,” as my dad used to say.

You and I are reminiscing about the night we went to see Santana and Phish at Blossom back in ‘92. The night was July 31; I recall this because the next night was my first date with Julie. We drove to the concert in my Horizon and got really stoned at the show. I was so far gone that I was paranoid throughout the entire Santana set. Man, the only thing I remember about Santana was that every song ended the same. “Dun dundun Dun dundun,” you know, like the ending of “Black Magic Woman.” After the show you had to drive home. We were hungry and stopped at that Burger King near the amphitheater for some late night grub. Instead of eating in the car, we crouched down in the parking lot and devoured the burgers and fries off of the asphalt. I made a comment that we were like cavemen — hovering over our kill and feeding our faces. We laughed.

In the dream, you’re wearing blue cut off shorts and a light blue, button-down shirt. Your hair is pulled back in a ponytail, with a few strands of your brown, curly locks dangling in your face. You’re trying to roll another cigarette, but having a difficult time because the two of us are laughing off our asses. We laugh so hard that I double over. When I sit back up to look at you, you’re gone. (more…)