sometimes, before I have my coffee, I am a time traveler as I type away. I change my queries to extract the numbers I need as I sit in a classroom in 1994, listening to the radiator hiss by the open window, smelling whatever it is that makes the smell of old radiators, perhaps old silvery paint, or maybe just the age of its body and waters.

I am newly 6 and I wish for snow from the overcast white-grey skies as mind idles while my teacher reads from some book, and I am listening to the trucks go by outside. what is attention? I do not yet know the word "daydreamer", but I am daydreaming.

I wish I could make something as beautiful as fugazi's 13 songs.