“Momma! Stop!”
She giggles while making a left on Tumac Street in the Robinson area of the city, teasing me, purposely knowing how to make me feel uncomfortable, pressing my buttons. “I had a dream about the two of you last night.”
Momma’s dreams. They’ve always been prophetic. She’s like the walking Nostradamus. When Billy Nant broke up with me two summers before, Momma dreamed about it three nights before the event. When a tornado slashed down and over Mount Washington, near the South Side Slopes, on June 2, 1998, Momma had two dreams about the wind storm, claiming it deadly. When Hillary lost the election, Momma dreamed about it beforehand. Same goes for the Republican insurrection on January 6, 2021. When I get a cold or the flu, Momma tells me about it before it happens. And let’s n
