Wednesday, March 23, 2011


There were trucks, and a man holding my hand. He may have looked like Gene Wilder. I felt like I was about 8-12 years old. I had a bag on my shoulder. We were walking down a highway towards this truck. Then we saw a big marquee sign with a W on it pointing to some sort of convention off the highway. We ran towards it. I had a hard time running because of the bag on my shoulder, but we got there.

There was my nana, my aunt, and their roach coach.