Blue Sunset  Something happens putting together or winding a machine backwards. My friend Kevin Simpson and I run away because of the machine. We leave my house. We have a full tank of gas. I turn off the lights as we leave. We think of a place to go to sleep. It's raining. We don't want to pitch a tent in the rain. I think of going to Jefferson School or the Hill Park shelter where there would be something to block the rain. We stop on the road, pulling over, to take a photograph of a fabulous sunset: it's blue and orange and yellow or pink, in concentric circles on the horizon. A vehicle pulls up, and my high school math teacher Ray Banks gets out. He walks towards us and goes into the outhouse that is next to us on the side of the road. I say hi to him as he passes. I aim my camera at the sunset. Through the shutter I see a list or chart of all the really big (20 pounds or more) northern pike that my grandpa Redding has caught. I then see different parts of grandpa, and I take a photograph of him lying on a table having surgery, in which a metal tool is being removed from his stomach. This may be a drill bit. Ray loosened the tie down rope holding the two canoes on our vehicle as he walked by. We'll have to retie it. I don't mind: we'll just have to redo it, but Ray seems bad about it. After I take the photograph my film rewinds. I open the back and the roll of film has a piece of the starter strip sticking out, like it's a new roll, even though it's used up. I think this must be because after it was rewound I turned the camera "on" again before removing the old film, so it advanced again. Ray Banks is then grandpa Redding, and he walks to his old blue car, which he says is a '66, and still running. I tell him my truck only has 50,000 miles. HE comes over and looks at the odometer, which reads 57,xxx. My dad is there. We think of leaving the car and riding bicycles. I think of my brother Wally's road bicycle in the basement at home. My dad gives me a very large wooden bowl, nicely carved. He says he wants to reward Wally and I for our academic work. Maybe at Christmas time, he says.