I had gone to Target because I didn’t want to be at home and because I wanted to feel as horribly isolated and alone as possible. When I got into the place I made a beeline for the toy aisle and went into the one with the yellow walls—yellow denoting “neutral” toys, the other aisles being some garish pink and some terrible blue, because apparently boys and girls can’t play with the same toys unless they’re weird and hard to categorize.

Of course I immediately took the cat keyboard off the shelf. I always take the cat keyboard off the shelf. The cat keyboard is a child’s music-thing shaped like a cat’s grinning face. Its teeth are the keys. If you press the “meow” button the keyboard produces notes using synthesized cat meows. It is the best thing they sell. It is the best thing anyone sells.

I held it there with my left hand and pressed the keys with my right. It wasn’t enough to keep the meows to myself. I wanted to share them with the world. So I stepped out of the aisle and stood there in that big-ass through lane near the electronics section. That’s when I saw you coming towards me holding a half gallon of milk and a bag of apples. You had on a big weird jacket and your hair was red as hell. I thought you were a good-looking person. Meanwhile other bad-looking people were passing by, either ignoring me or giving me hateful glances, maybe because they’re not having any fun at all and can’t stand the sight of someone else trying to have some, but you laughed and smiled at me when you got close. And when you did I played the first few notes to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”.

Girl, I played those notes for you. I just wanted you to know.

Keep twinkling, baby.