Last night I dreamt of a small brown dragon hidden in the crowded streets of Venice, Italy.

The partly cloudy morning left me unsettled. It was like an octopus in the Atlantic Ocean. I stared at the numbers on the screen, but I couldn’t focus. The voices sprinted through my mind like black coffee. “You can still do it.” “Workin hard girl, everything paid for.” “I’m gonna do it now.” Woah! Stop! It went silent. I felt different. I wasn’t like MLK or even Brittny Spears, but I couldn’t think. The satiation of the hashbrowns was not enough. It wouldn’t go far enough. I was stuck to the ground in my Copa soccer cleats. All it ever was … 8,127,453.