Upon returning from the east coast on Independence Day, something wasn’t quite right and I sensed it right after my departure from the Amtrak Police Mr. Anderson. My flight from Baltimore to Detroit was fairly quick to California, two hours I believe. The remaining flight Detroit to California I had seemed to be indulged in my I-Pod switching from James Brown classics to Robin Thick, to Pharrell’s “Happy” song “a with a room without a roof”. I believe I played that number twenty or so times upon landing in San Francisco while gyrating, head bobbling, and finger snapping. There was nothing that could have put me in better mood. As a matter of fact that flight was the happiest moment of my entire life, but just wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t until I arrived home that reality set in and pondering what happened to me, why did I feel like something terribly tragic happened to me upon returning from Philadelphia that morning on June 27th 2016. Tired and eagerly needing rest I arrived home entering into a place that had looked like it had been abandoned for six months to a year. Meaning my precious Angel “cat” was on edge and the place was should have had tumbleweeds blowing throughout the studio. All five plant’s were bone dry dead like they had no care for sometime and I arranged for my friend to look after my place while I was away for exactly a month. I immediately started cleaning to ignore the strange gut wrenching feeling I was having in my stomach and the feeling I left this world and somehow returned back to earth from the dead.