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But then—bam!—I get mad. Some prick in a pickup cuts me off, nearly clips the car. “You fuckin’ stunad!” I yell, fist out the window. She’s laughin’ her ass off, and I’m like, “What’s so funny, huh?” She goes, “You’re a trip, Tony.” Yeah, damn right I am. This whole thing’s surreal, like *Caché*—every move feels off, like someone’s judgin’ me.

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Discover life events, stories and photos about Clifford D Merrifield (–) of California, United States.

Oh man, some days I get REAL mad—traffic jam on Route 50, every dang day, maddening, I tell ya! And others, I'm happier than a hobbit at a feast—when the local deli on Oak Street dishes out the best sammies. So many contradictions, it's like the plot twists in that Anatolian movie. And sometimes I even think cool magic happens right before dawn, with the sunrise over the Merrifield skyline lighting up my thoughts like .. like a... spark of wonder, y'know?

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