The Kirwan Twins Adventures We've finally graduated, so we're setting off for three months to backpack around India, Cambodia, Vietnam and Thailand before entering the "real world."

That evening, I was on my way home from Timmer Wood and Lauren Alter's wedding.  Yes, I must say I was also quite astonished at the match and their decision to carry out the celebration after only reuniting last week, since third grade.  Nonetheless, it was a joyous occasion and, in high spirits, my friends and I were off to continue our merry-making elsewhere.  First, I had to drive home and feed my dog Toby.  Katie Giannonae followed me to my house, and as I was just calling down from the window to let her know I was almost ready, I was rudely interrupted by the blood-curling squeal of a dog and the sound of glass and metal shattering on concrete.  What the *&$#$%@!!  

Astounded and frightened by the possibility that the coincidence of dogs and cars might have actually occurred (in real life, my dream, or both) I shrugged and willed myself back to sleep.  Yet, however deep I snuggled into the protection of my wool blankets, the siren would not quit its howling.  Or was it a car alarm?  I jumped again at the sound of a door creaking open, and footsteps crossing the living room adjacent to my quarters.  No wait, salvation!  It must be Martha or Ramiro.  I flung back the covers and opened the door to find Ramiro peering out the window.  I followed suit.  

There, right across the street, sat a car unhappily fused to the corner of an adobe home.  And how the people flowed from their homes to investigate the ear-splitting event.  People continued to stand and stare, but in the half hour that I also stood and stared from my window I noticed the glaring absence of a police vehicle or ambulance.  Should I call 911?  Don’t people do that here?  Geez, I mean the driver must be seriously injured, or worse, dead.

But no, wait!  Ever so slowly, I watched a body sickeningly lift itself from the steering wheel.  In stuttering movements, the driver slowly descended from the vehicle, and off he disappeared down Avenida Guatemala.  The car alarm continued its desperate wail until at some odd hour, a tow truck must have carried away its demented corpse.

The sun streamed through my window, caressing me awake from fuzzy visions and recollections.  Swinging my feet to the edge of the bed, I stood up and peered out the window.  The view is magnificent in the mornings; crystal blue skies swiftly painted by clouds of all shapes and sizes, and sunlit valleys embracing the clutter of structures that is Quito.  My eyes swept across this privileged site and slowly descended to the little, yellow house on the corner.  Sadly, its warm color and flower-boxed windows have been vandalized by crude graffiti.  I noticed something else as well; scraps of plastic and metal litter the adjacent sidewalk.  Then I remembered the curious incident in the night and how the chance of dreamy symbols meeting physical realities seemed ominous to me.  

The sun quickly washed away my gloom, and I became more concerned as to the well being of the borracho in the car.   However, I decided to ask my new-found friend, Vikki, a once-Wicca devotee to shed some light on the early morning's course of events.  She interpreted that my awareness and intuition may be supremely charged, and that perhaps I should take this as an indication to follow my instincts.