I’m sitting on a bench in the forest, facing the reservoir. An old woman appears. She asks me, “are you an angel?” I say I do not know. She asks me if I serve God. I told her I am an artist. She asked what I draw. I said songs. She asked me to sing a song. I sang the last verse of “I Walked Away With You.” I was congested, but she seemed pleased. She asked what I picture when I sing that song. I said I picture the scene of the car accident that I had with the woman I am marrying in two weeks. She asked if I am her protector. She asked if she is dominating. Her questions and advice became progressively misogynistic, although she acknowledged the idea of both of us having an inner “bro” and an inner woman. She expressed concern about me becoming ”dickless” and “ballless.” I managed to not giggle. After a while, she smiled and said, ”this is my wedding gift to you” and continued walking her bike down the overgrown forest trail.