As you lay your head, crooked against rough, green pleather, the sun's rays seem to lay their hands around your cheek and caress it like the too rough hands had done so gently. 'And visions of sugar plums danced in your head' but it's not that time of year though you wish you could be the sugar plum princess through every season. But then the light appears too bright in the stereo-typical interrogation or worse yet when you've lost all your marbles. But the light doesn't help you find them, it just reminds you that people are convinced you've indeed lost them; but you actually know where they are, they're just hidden from the spot-light somewhere else and you won't tell anyone, shhh.
J.
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