My thoughts drift, spring, float, jump. Slippery tendrils wrap around one idea, only to slide off and voraciously grasp another, soon giving that up and tickling another, more colourful mental image. Sometimes I have the attention span of an octopus with ADHD and a hundred tentacles. My brain is a hundred-pus. It doesn’t matter if such a thing exists or not. It doesn’t matter if unicorns exist or not. Maybe they did, at one time. Perhaps instead of following the more evolutionarily acceptable path from water to land, they decided to go the opposite way and become narwhals.