You walk into a restaurant you like, not having eaten for the last 18 hours. The girl at the counter looks pretty, but you have no time to stop n’ chat. You are on a mission—a mission to get a table.
Right this second.
The restaurant seems like a stock market, with loud people yelling at each other from across the room. The lamps at the table are blinding. Your memory of this place was lovely.
“This doesn’t look like the same one. Maybe it is. Too difficult to tell.”
You see a live hog sitting at the table. Now that can’t be true!
You close your eyes, and open them again. The hog is gone, and so is the receptionist.
You close your eyes again to resume the previous scene. A Live hog sitting on my table is better than no table.
A lady walks right up; she is looking for a receptionist too. She looks pregnant. You need to be polite and let her go first. But hey, there is no proof she is pregnant. She might be obese. Or may not even be there. She might be a hog, for all you know.
The receptionist is taking forever. Maybe she has jumped behind the food counter and is working on the fries. Perhaps the fries are complimentary. Maybe the loaves of bread are. Perhaps even the tomato ketchup.
Are the tissues on her desk edible? Ooooh, Candy cane! Candy canes with caps!
Weird, but what the hell, if she takes one more minute, you are chewing that cane. Lollipops are hanging from the ceiling, candy canes on her desk, a Nanaimo bar for a paperweight, and incensed thin mints.
Oh, here she comes; she has chocolates in her hand.
You can’t take it anymore and snatch that bar right out of her hand.
She lets out a scream, and so do you. She disappears, and you are sitting in your bed, wide awake, having chewed up half your comforter.
Must be a dream.