Bad omens evolve.
Lying on the floor, napping, meditating, astral-traveling,
fully asleep, in a coma, in a k-hole, etc.
When they met, dad’s face was supersized among the exhilarating cacophony of blinking cosmopolitan space-age advertorial madness that is the universe of Tokyo billboards, part of the city’s seizuring fabric. My parents got engaged in a parked car and then immediately backed into a lamppost. The first five minutes of their relationship summarizes its totality.
I would splash through them, singing in the warm, dark rain.