I abruptly woke up in the middle of the night. A man had screamed "crap!" It was so loud, it could have been in my bedroom. I wondered if somehow it had been me. Could my voice be that low and rough? I noticed that I was sleeping on my back, my hands folded behind my head, the covers on the floor. I wondered if I often sleep in that position. I pulled the covers back on and dozed off, but before I was fully asleep, I heard a crow scream "caw!" in the tree outside my open window.

I purchased an antique typewriter that was also an old jalopy. I was in the front seat, face-down with my head underneath the steering wheel, clearing out the accumulated trash from around the stick shift. I scraped red paint off the steering column with my fingernail. I looked at the typewriter ribbon, threaded underneath the floorboard, and wished that I had asked the people at the store if they had any replacement ribbon of the same kind. I was frustrated, knowing I'd never find any on my own.