The hands on my wristwatch stopped working yesterday. I didn’t mind so much because it was raining. I thought of Kafka, and then I felt kind of guilty for thinking about Kafka. I mean, you have to be kind of pretentious to think about Kafka. So I bought a maple vegan donut at Whole Foods and ate it in my car. This made me feel less la-di-da and more like The Dude. The rain pouring hard, I thought, I want to watch The Big Lebowski. But The Dude was really a detective, and detectives, in most cases, are Sherlockian existentialists. High brow, low brow. Often there’s a unibrow. I read this morning that Hershey’s chocolate syrup will be substituting sugar for high fructose corn syrup. The Buddha wouldn’t lift an eyebrow. He invented the word ‘impermanence.’ But maybe Kafka would be relieved. Damn. Another vegan donut. I had a revenge dream the other night, and I felt empowered by it. Confucius and Gandhi criticized vengeance, but I have to say I see the poetry of getting even. What I mean is, karma. What I mean is, justice. I become Chuang Tzu, coasting the Butterfly Dream. This is my baser reason for writing: to experience the tit for tat in a dream, so no one is harmed. When I craft stories, each character is myself—even the villain. When I take revenge, my inner Cinderella steps up to my inner step-sister. Kafka reminds me to make my characters suffer. The Dude reminds me to keep things strange.