Went to the tax man. Reading in the lobby he walked up silently, stood in front of me. And spoke my name. In such a command I nearly jumped out of my skin. He dismissed the action, as if it hadn't happened. Peculiar. I asked him if he normally gets that reaction when he sneaks up on people like that. He thought the question odd. Peculiar. We sat. He moved and spoke in such a way. Peculiar. Each movement he made. Each reach for the pen. Precise. Slow. Peculiar. I wondered what a CIA assasian was doing working at the taxman. OR if the CIA had offered to employ this one yet. Cut. Slice. No connection. Peculiar. (don't read too much into that one). We actually ended up talking about work and school and how to survive the work environment. I would have asked him out if the unknown was not so unknown about him in a known way. I can't have a boy sneaking up on me like that, say if he desides to go insane or something, which was what I was thinking about. He was like 'Psycho' and 'Terminator Cop' rolled up into one-psycho body and abstractness; terminator cop eyes and deadness. But very intriqueing the same. Next day I lay dreaming watching a charity show. A celebrity I associate to the charity, in my dream walked purposefully up to me and dropped a large bag of coin on or beside me. Later, I lay dreaming in my covers, bare chested. Feeling the blanket on my skin and feeling it in a snuggly way like a baby or puppy. IN this dream a mentor asked "when was the last time you did that (allow myself the pleasure of that comfort). Long time I thought, grateful and grateful. I woke, donned a shirt, met my son in the living room. Tax man called he said.