Later that night, the rain still fell in a way that mirrored Derek’s excitement. Every time he had met with Julia, whatever the magic was, it grew in intensity.

It was dull gray outside, and pattering rain cancelled out the droning elevator music. The woman clicked her pen twice. Dark dress - green lapel.

“Adam, dear, I am ever so grateful for your rib, but let’s keep our relationship as it is. Can’t we just be friends?”

The hair was magnificent, as was her dress. And the lovely color of it all…. It was too much – too much to handle.

He arrived at the elevator just in time to see her toss a long black lock away from her brown eyes. Not her.

After some time – he did not know the hour – he felt that he was awake, that his feet were upon a sidewalk. A dream, he thought. Yes, a dream, certainly – there was, before his eyes, the church building of all things.

Forget imagining stories; I’d live them, live them like Kerouac did, and write about them later. A road trip journal, full of my thoughts and the people I met and the places I broke down, yes, and it would be my best story ever, because it really happened.

The wife suggested some Shakespeare instead of the commercial junk I keep bringing to work. I just started it and already there’re these two guys arguing about how love works. What do you think about that?

“Quork!”

Wonder should never change; it should merely mature.