I was at the George Bush Intercontinental Airport, which I thought should be renamed for a cooler guy. I arrived five hours early because they messed up my boarding pass. They thought my last name was my first name and my first name was my last name. They thought I was a Roald Dahl character. I explained I was a real person with a real name, and after a handful of judgmental comments, a ticketing agent deigned to bequeath upon me my real name. I checked my bag. I lied about there being no lithium batteries. I went through TSA and they pelted me with assorted candies: lollipops, gumdrops, gobstoppers. I felt like Willy Wonka. I explained to them that I was Wonky Williams, but they just kept tossing those sweet treats. I drank a ham & cheese croissant and ate a caffè latte and thought about lithium batteries. I took a life-threatening coffee shit, but the bathroom was beautiful. The toilet paper was thin as a Russian figure skater. It tore easy as the fabric of the universe. None of the automatic faucets worked until I turned the knobs. I dunked my hands in toilet water. I painted the airport with chocolate. I listened to The Apples in Stereo. I listened to my intrusive thoughts. I thought about lithium batteries. I wondered if the Sanrio combination Bluetooth speaker/nightlight I bought my friend would kill us all. I Googled will the Sanrio combination Bluetooth speaker/nightlight I bought my friend kill us all? Google said signs point to yes. I shook my Magic 8-Ball. My Magic 8-Ball said it is certain. I shrugged like a weasel. I entered the gate, which was protected by talismans. I burst into flames, but I kept my cool. I boarded the plane and was bespirited by Baphomet. I had a sea salt chocolate quinoa crisp and a small cerulean cup of Coke. I teleported to the cargo hold and immolated My Melody. The plane fell into the Atlantic Ocean. I fell into the depths of hell. My friend played her songs at my wake. I requested her Sanrio song, but she didn’t hear me. But she did play it anyways, immediately after I asked. I thought it was a good coincidence, more so than a miracle. Baphomet asked what’s her name? All of the demons asked what’s your name? I said it only matters what you call things when you have somewhere to go.