It was almost noon by the time I left the thrift store. I'd found one concert t-shirt that would bring enough profit to pay for gas and lunch.
"I don't know why we bother doing this," I told Amy as I maneuvered Wind Horse into traffic.
"It's just wasted time and energy. I spent the morning looking for profitable items to resell, and I'll need to do it again tomorrow to have a chance to break even for the week."
I got no response, but I didn't expect one because I was talking to Princess Amy, that spoiled little brat of a limbic system in the middle of my brain who gets her kicks by overloading my emotional system.
"Doesn't it bother you?" I asked.
"Nope," Amy said. "I'm only in it for the money."
"The money?" I said. "I only hope I don't lose money this week."
"Yeah, you're not much of a business person. You should pay more attention to me. I'm an entrepreneur."
"You are not a business person! You're a little almond-shaped cluster of brain cells. You might benefit from the money I make, but you never really profit. It's a foreign concept to you."
"Making money's not the only way to profit."
"What are you talking about, if anything?" I asked.
"I'm an entrepreneur," she said. "I get you to do stupid stuff--to generate excitement--and you can be really entertaining sometimes."
“You’re the only one who’s entertained by the kind of excitement you generate, and that never ends well."
"When I'm on a roll," she said, "I can fire you up enough to get bystanders involved, and that's when it really becomes fun. What a riot!"
"You're a menace! You're a danger to the fabric of the universe."
"I'm an influencer," she said. “I'm not just another pretty face, baby. That's why I have to keep my brain functioning efficiently, and I'm not operating at full power right now because I need a latte and a muffin."
"This is leading up to a stop at Surf & Java, isn't it?" I asked.
"Exactly. I can get some caffeine to stoke my engines while you have an Impossible sandwich for our lunch."
A few minutes later, we were seated outside the surf shop, and Amy was relatively quiet while I ate. I suppose she was soaking up some nutrients to stoke her engines. I was thinking about going home when she spoke again.
"I need another latte," she said. "You get it, and I'll wait here. I'm gonna look at this magazine. It says on the cover that Keanu Reeves used to surf competitively."
I didn't reply. I was beginning to feel like I was no more than a vehicle to chauffeur my limbic system around town.
"Too bad you can't stay here and have someone else get the coffee," she said. "What if there's a sudden rush of customers and someone gets our table?"
"A rush of customers?" I said.
"It could happen," she said. "Good idea," I said, "I'll stay here to keep someone from taking our table."
"So anyway," Amy said."Did you know that Keanu was a surfer? Maybe we should take up surfing."
I tried to get comfortable in the plastic chair as I overthought Amy's earlier comments about being an entrepreneur.
"You got a lot of thinking going on," Amy said. "It's getting hot in here with all that thinking you're doing. You're burning too much energy."
“I'm thinking about what you said earlier,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were capable of doing anything more than mismanaging my emotions.”
"I'm a complex person," Amy said. "I got a lot going on. You haven't even seen the tip of my iceberg, baby. One of my goals is to be a TV star."
"How's that even possible?" I asked.
"I'm gonna be a reality star like Kyle, Lisa, and Khloé."
"A reality star--you're going to be the next Khloé Kardashian?"
"It's only a matter of time," she said. "I got a plan worked out, and I'm about to start shooting a demo reel. That's how you get into the finals, you gotta shoot a demo reel."
"What's your plan? And how are you going to film anything?"
"First," she said, "it's a concept show that I call Wearing Underwear in Public, or WUP for short.”
"I already don't like it," I said.
"You don't like it, but you're really good at it," she said.
"What's that supposed to mean. I'm not going to be part of anything called Wearing Underwear in Public."
“WUP,” she said. “You’re already part of it, silly. Remember those dreams you had last week? That was the pilot for the show. Now it's time to record the first episodes."
"You little brat!" I said. "Those dreams are caused by you! I thought we had an understanding. You and I are not different people, Amy. We're the same person. What I experience, you experience. Why do you do these things?"
"It gets boring in here," she said. "I need a creative outlet, and I'm competing for a Dreamy award. With a concept like WUP, I think I could be a contender."
"Awards? How would that even work? Am I going to dream that you get an award?"
"No, dummy," she said. "There's a whole dream universe filled with all kinds of stuff for imaginary people like me. What do you think dreams are for, anyway? They aren't just entertainment for you, you know."
I was overwhelmed. I needed some time alone, and that's not easy to find when you're trying to get away from your own thoughts.
"Uh oh," I said, "look at the time. It seems we don't need to be concerned about a customer rush. I need to check on my mom and then stop at the hardware store. I've got to patch the lanai screens where the squirrels gnawed through them."
"Your mom is living with the stars, Genome," Amy said.
"Yeah, but I still check in with her daily."
"Well, if I were you," Amy said, "I'd get home in time for a nap so you can keep up with me tonight. We got a demo to record."
"I won't forget about that," I said, but I said it without any real chirpiness.