Dream Machine

Just yesterday I asked myself, “What would it be like to cheat your dreams?”  You know, instead of having dreams develop in my own subconscious, maybe it’d be more fun if I could occupy space in someone else’s.  Yours maybe.

So I’ve been wondering, how does one know the dreams they’re experiencing are theirs?  But look, I’m not going to wait here for an answer.  And anywhere, here’s the dream we had last night:

A man opened the door and stepped through.  When the door shut behind him, the air leaked in like a reverse vacuum.  The man — we should call him Bobby, because he looks like a Bobby in the sort of way that, yes he’s a man, but also that he’s got that boyish quality in the cheeks and still has a few blemishes from pimples recently healed — Bobby breathed in the most colorful air he’s ever inhaled.  His vision enhanced beyond 20/10, so much so, that when he glanced down at his socks he noticed a thread sneaking out that had already curled herself into a cursive capital L.

Well, we woke up just then.  Thanks for the dream.

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