I wake up and look at my clock’s digital display, which reads “3:36 A.M” in bright blinking blue numerals. My Zune’s headphones are wrapped around my throat and I can faintly hear St. Vincent’s latest album’s last track playing on repeat. That is how I fall asleep. I think I was having a “dream” in which I was “ejaculating.” Other people “dream” of going to college and “being somebody.” I “dreamt” about “having sex with an imaginary girl from St. Vincent who isn’t actually in the band.” My hand is sticky, I notice. And my boxers are sticky too. I am sleepy, and without “actively realizing it” I use my come-hand to rub my face. Later in the morning, when I am asleep again, when maybe the clock reads “9:48 A.M”, I might lick my lips.