Bullet Holes

I know who I am. Who I was. In my dreams I shot a hole through the arm of my sofa with a 9mm pistol. It left a brown stain around the edges where the bullet pierced the fabric. The wood frame altered the trajectory and there’s a bullet lodged in the kitchen wall, next to the plastic clock.

I was laying on the sofa when it happened, when I pulled out the pistol and aimed at the forest green shadowed golden rose fabric and aimed between my toes and hit my mark. It was quite a good shot. Upon reflection I think I must have kept both eyes open (usually I close one when I aim).

I don’t think I mentioned that I found a home. It’s little house with a big yard. It’s where my stuff is going to be. It’s where nearly every morning I’m going to wake up for awhile.