first, well not first really, you don't remember the first memory, you're the antihero of your own dream, naked under the desk. first you get the tragic sense of life, funny to some. then you get jock itch. 
there are a lot of cops slowly cruising the neighborhood this morning and i feel conspicuous ignoring them, studying mister at a stop light, studying my blank phone, though surely they're not dragging for people off leash. nevertheless even though they aren't cruising for me, i get a creepy feeling. are there killers walking around here off leash? what's creepy is concealed weapons. like anybody could be concealing, and everybody's concealing something. no, it doesn't feel open, this society. it feels fraught, it feels menacing. it feels concealed.