Last night I had this dream. In my dream I was a bad guy, sort of a street thug.
I dressed like a kid from a bad neighborhood, with gold teeth and gaudy jewlery and a bright
red track suit with something like Southpole or Ecko written is script across the chest.
But there was trouble in these parts and the whole community had come together and everyone needed some help. For some reason people were making sandwiches and somehow in my dream, these sandwiches, when at a certain proper thickness, would please someone even bader than me and make all of our collective problems go away.
I was handed a sandwich that was about 1/2 an inch too thin and was told by some desperate people that that was all there was. The sandwich was not going to be enough to stop the wave of shitstorm that was heading right our way.
So I reached into the pocket of my red sweatpants and pulled out a thick wad of bills folded in half and put it on top of the Ham and put the bread on top of that and BOOM! We had a thick sandwich.
I wrapped the sandwich in paper and handed it to some starry eyed kid and I was a hero across the land.
Then suddenly I noticed that I still had my wad of bills. I had secretly slipped it back into my pocket. I saved the day and I was still holding onto the loot.
I woke up totally pleased with myself...
I have no idea what that was all about, but not a bad little story.
DK
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2 comments:
I think it's pretty obvious. The dream is telling you to screw all this pseudo-anonymity and start dressing in a red track suit. You could take over that two-bit town.
I love it. Rarely do I remember enough of a dream to make such a complete story. With a little fleshing out, this could practically be a short story. Or a children's book. :)
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