As I was stretching there was a kitten pulling at the strings of my hoodie. I sprawled out on the unmade bed and writhed a bit over the deteriorating quilts like when you have one of those really great stretches that squishes all of your breath out. I'd gotten dressed in hopes that an invitee would return a text message and join me for drinks and a midnight snack. I kept checking my phone like I always do. It's in my hand, if it buzzed I'd know it, but I always look to see if somehow one slipped by. Every time I clicked it on to see - almost every minute - my dark room would light up a bit and the scratching cat would stop and stare. Is that a no? I asked. Ten minutes. Fifteen. The kitten had gotten sleepy and I had stopped looking at the phone. Instead, I was casting my movie about the life of Satchel Paige. Starring would be Dave Chappelle. Not only does he look an awful lot like the late Paige, but now that he's gone through his awakening or whatever I think he'd be more inclined to do a serious civil rights sports biopic.