It's a cloudy haze of slc. There are saints everywhere. I kneel before a large altar, which juts up out this large pulpit of my parents.
"I am sick, and tired." I tell them.
"I don't know what I am working on. I am in a haze."
I don't know who they are. They don't feel like parents, but more like guardians, protectors, lines of code, like a blessing.
My mom looks like Roseanne. My dad looks like me.