Listen to weird music.

It's refreshing listening to weird music.

Weird music?

What is weird music?

Music you don't generally... vibe with?

Oh God, can't even use words?

Am I going to convert? Damn Atheist.

Listen to weird music.

But it's so relaxing.

Have someone scream at you,

but for once it's not someone you know.

It's so relaxing.

Listen to weird music.

"But it's so weird."

"Just like you."

Laugh.

Laugh.

Would you please laugh?

"I don't usually listen to this type of music..."

"I don't know what's up with me recently."

I can't laugh.

But I can lie.

Listen to weird music.

I love it, can't I?

It's not weird, just a little...

different.

Can't I love it?

Can't I change my mind?

And can't I

Listen to weird music.

This world is not what it used to be. Our Grandma told stories about the everlasting water from the streams; our Grandpa told us about the drought.

To our luck, we chose to rob a bank. We escaped with more money than we could've imagined. We drank water for months and gave Grandpa and Grandma their soft goodbyes. We drank water until we became just like Grandpa and Grandma.

Today, I tell the stories of how we robbed the bank to our grandkids, and my brother will tell the stories of how everything went wrong – this time with war.

What was my first toy?

You'll ask a question. I can't answer.

"My memory is pretty bad, but I remember my childhood favorite," I say, nervous you may not like me already.

"Sure, why not?" I can already tell you're annoyed.

Now, what did I do? Did I make this harder for myself? Do I pick the Elephant or the Cat? The Elephant has a story, but I forgot a lot of it. And does the Cat even count as a childhood toy? I got her when I was in high school.

"I had a stuffed toy elephant I always slept with." I look up, finally looking at you.

"Oh really? What was its name?"

I hesitate. I missed it. "Um... I called it Ellie sometimes... and Sugar sometimes..." I say.

"Well, that's... why two names?" you ask. I can't answer.

"I don't know, I was a kid," I say.

"You don't know?" you say. I feel defeated by the simple question already.

"I don't know," I repeat back.

"Oh, okay. Well, mine was a teddy bear I'd always sleep with. I called him Bobo, and I used to take him everywhere I went and always accidentally got him dirty. This one time, I took him out to recess, and my mom was furious when I came home all muddy and had to wash the teddy cause I was crying about how Bobo was all muddy cause he was a white teddy bear." you say. But you don't stop there. You keep talking, and talking, and talking, and talking, and —

I smile, listening. This isn’t so bad.