by David Luntz Bob Brewer I had this dream once about an ape playing with a hand grenade. I even wrote a story about it [1]. In the story it’s unclear whether I live or die when the ape pulls out the pin and swallows the grenade. The story had a line that went, “Each passing moment plays its own requiem no matter what we do.” I am not sure what I was trying to say by it. Nor am I sure what the story meant. Maybe the ape represented fate or chance. Maybe the story was about th

by David Luntz Gericault/Public Domain My neighbor is mowing his lawn near a row of white and yellow-streaked tulips. He’s trying to avoid me. Which is weird. Normally he’s quite friendly. Maybe he senses I’ve been dreaming about his house. Some people are just intuitive like that. And now he fears I know about his lewd South Sea photos suspended in bubbles of cellophane on the second-floor’s northwest passage. That passage he’s been trying for years to find a way through as