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Suburburburburbia
I.: I'm lost. I absolutely cannot believe this. Lost. I walk three steps from the front door and wham: lost. I don't recognize that tree. That's not my tree. These cracks in the sidewalk. They're not mine. Mine are further apart. I jump over them as I run. These I can tiptoe over. This is not my sidewalk. And that. That mailbox. That's not mine. It has my name on it, but it's not mine. The flag is pink, not red. ... I am lost. This front yard is not mine. Oh, it sort of looks like it: I can see where I accidentally ran over Porky with the mower last Thursday, actually, but the grass was really dark in my yard. Here it's still bright green. Totally lost.
N.: I.!
I.: Someone's calling my name. But how could people know me? I'm lost. I'm in another dimension, or maybe another suburb. Or a suburburb, a suburb of a suburb.
N.: I.!
I.: Yet still they call. Who is it, I wonder. Can they hear me? Do they see that I'm lost and want to help? What could they possibly want with --
N.: I., if you don't get your scrawny tail in here right. now. I'm going to come out there and wrap your ears around your ankles and throw you off of the roof. Got it?
I.: Strange. Things suddenly look familiar. I'm starting to regain my sense of place. That voice. It's familiar. I wonder --
N.: I.!
I.: ... Okay, Mom.
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