I found myself walking around in a Mervyn's department store waiting for my brother to buy some shoes. In my arms, I precariously held too many items that I kept dropping as I perused the sales racks. I had folders, tangled wads of fabric, and a small furry animal that was most likely a pet. I was shocked to find that Mervyn's now carried very expensive designer clothing like Dolce & Gabbana and Calvin Klein. Although I could not afford a damn thing, I continued fondling the fancy clothing, hoping that one day, I would have enough money to shop at any Mervyn's in the United States. I noticed a strange group of ragged employees engaged in a meeting around the jewelry counters. As they started to walk through the aisle between handbags and ladies' fashions, one of them stopped and looked in my direction. The meeting scattered and the ringleader, who looked very familiar, glanced at me again. He had long, stringy tree trunk brown hair that had been haphazardly pulled into a strip of a ponytail that tapered into a greasy rat tail. Feeling a bit weird about the whole situation, I shuffled around the blouse racks, trying not to drop the pile I was carrying around with me. Getting a better, more concealed look at this guy, I realized that he was Billy Bob Thornton, the actor and director. What the hell was he doing working at a Mervyn's in the stinkpot of Southern California, I wondered to myself. My brother came over to me with no new shoes and we started to leave, but Billy Bob stopped us in our tracks. He invited me to an exclusive art opening that was to be held upstairs in the employees only area of the store. He stroked his greasy stubble with a dry, dirty hand. I had not seen any art for a while, but more important, I was hungry for some free food, so I accepted. After climbing some stairs to get to the makeshift art gallery, I was confronted by huge tables of cheese and cracker platters placed next to fondue crocks and bottles of expensive wine. After partaking of the buffet, I looked around and was actually impressed by a computerized animation of rapidly multiplying squiggles and lines that reproduced in the method of bacteria. The colors were vivid variations of purples, chartreuses, and yellows. I said to myself, "Remember this part, if nothing else. Remember these colors." And although they were clear in my mind, I had a hard time describing the brilliance they had conveyed. I remembered the details of Billy Bob's hair and beard more accurately than that of the animation I had so desperately wanted to imprint in my memory.