Dreaming in Digital

I was in my apartment and Cookie was out meeting his cousins and his mother who had come for the weekend. My cellphone rang. He told me his mother wanted to see me and join her for dinner. I felt anxiety rush up as a cold chill up my spine, but knowing I owe her much of my lifestyle (as she influenced Cookie into the man he is today), I agreed to meet her. I can't remember what I ended up doing next, but I became distracted from getting ready.

Finished from his social event, Cookie stepped through the front door and noticed I was still in my pajama shirt with disheveled hair, pants-less. "Aren't you going to see my mom?" he asked. Realizing I'd forgotten, I jumped into the tub for a quick shower, threw on some clothes and raced out the door.

The streetlights illuminated, Yonge Street in North York, in an orange glow. It glistened on leaves of young trees, and the veranda roofs of store fronts were slick with water from the rain. As I hurried along, my old manager waved to me, her hair in corn rows and her faded denim jacket. I waved back.

She told me a little about how she was renovating her home by pulling up the floor tiles and replacing them with hardwood. As she talked, two boys from my past trotted along behind me and stopped when they recognized me.