Fourteen.

Every now and again, Ang asks me about the future. Will we ever have Jetsons-style cars? Will she need to know another language to get a job? I mean, I worry about the future, too. I mean, no one knows what's gonna happen, right? It just becomes like a choose-your-own-adventure book, but a really bad one, and you can't go backwards to the page beforehand because you fucked up and ended up at an ending that sucked.

Ang has a good imagination, and she thinks we'll have the Jetson cars. In her world, she'd know all of these languages and be served hand and foot by random buff dudes of every color. Of course, she'll be mega-rich, and jetseet and hip. I always laugh at these stories, asking her to remember her dear older brother who just wants a million or two, you know, chump change to the Queen of the World. She promises me, all serious and shit, that she'll look out for me. I'm glad of that; a lot of people don't have someone who has their back like that.

B and me talk about shit like that, too, you know. He figures he can go to college to be the engineer he wants to be, and maybe play football if he isn't hurt by then. Chris will go to college too, I think, because she's too smart not to. A lot of kids may go to community college or learn how to fix a car or something, something to pay the rent and buy some brew and maybe a hit of weed every weekend. Kinda like the sitcom dudes who never seem to go to work, but have money, live in a nice spot, and have mad chicks come by.

Me? No idea. I don't think the space cars are coming, and I can't vote yet, so it's not like I can make a difference in elections and shit yet. Hell, even if I could vote, what's one person in a crowd? If one person out of 50 went to college, I suppose that's good for that one person, but what about the other 49? If 49 people don't like something, but 51 do, what happens to the 49 that lost? I just don't know about that politics shit, man.

Collegewise, I think I can go. I mean, I'm not stupid, and my grades are decent. I like the writing thing, and maybe I can work in Hollywood. I could write poems, or stories. I could be one of those cats who has a day jobs as a waiter and keeps talking about the book I'm writing or some shit. That's just funny to think about.

And what about the women situation? I think there's a couple of girls at school who like me, so that's cool. One of these days I'ma try to hit one out the park, but the baby thing scares the fuck out of me. And there's Christine, which is a huge problem in itself.

Maybe, before we get to all that, I can get a rocket car.