Long time, no see. I have a dream just like the man says.

I’m working in some industrial location. My job is pushing paper rather than being on the floor in a hardhat and coveralls. I realize my co-worker Danielle is working at a business next to mine. I have a bit of an issue because I’m working under an assumed identity. Why? I don’t know. But I know my co-worker is also pulling some shenanigans, her job and skills don’t match what I know (or assume about her) and I want to learn her secrets.

Turns out she’s a journalist. Danielle explains how people love to talk about themselves and what they do, so she just asked and hung around to take notes. After a while they thought she worked there and she began to draw a paycheck.

Later I was trying to get a ride home from Danielle and wound up getting a lift from my astronomy club’s treasurer, Ro. She doesn’t know her way around this town which is like a hillier Millburn. I kept telling her I lived only three miles away but it seems we’re just going around in circles. I reach into the back seat to pull back some disgusting earbuds, find a pile of crumpled five dollar bills. I didn’t take them, but around that time Ro drops me off on a corner.

Across the street is a sealed up brick building painted mustard yellow. Not Goulden’s mustard but more like a Dijon. At the top of the entrance is a small white sign announcing it was a luncheonette in script-y red letters.

I think I forced myself to travel back in time to figure out why the building was sealed off. I kept thinking it used to be a hangout for the mafia. Back in time there are payphones everywhere. I see a bunch of people sleeping rough where ever they can find shelter from the elements.

About this time I kept coming up for air in the waking world, losing the thread of the dream.

Chris S.
Anomalist, esperantist, cyclist, typist, dodecaphile, ailurophile, and oneiromancer. Chris lives near the shore with his wife, cats, and the Jersey Devil in his backyard.

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