Chicken Little

Since before I can remember, I’ve loved turtles. I don’t know why. Maybe I was one in a previous life. Maybe it’s my spirit animal. In any case, as a teenager I listened to the Dead, a lot, around age 17 when I was going to California for college. (Your impending future and going to California for it is a mood). I wasn’t into Grateful Dead like some of my classmates because the songs were so mellow I tended to fall asleep. My unmedicated ADD was a natural high and it needed no help being potent.

But, Grateful Dead had an album called Terrapin Station that I just had to listen to because it had dancing turtles in it.

Well, that was fortunate, because I heard my favorite Dead song ever and it’s been my favorite Dead song no matter how many times I’ve listened to other songs of theirs. Eventually I bought a tie-dyed dancing turtle Dead shirt, that I don’t have now, and that I strangely miss even though it was a size XXS because I weighed 90 pounds at age 17.