Dreams

I was talking to my father, explaining to him the dream I’d had the night before.

“So, there I was, in the Museum of Modern Art in San Francisco, and the Nazis were coming after me. But it was okay, because the guys from Inglorious Basterds were there with shotguns, and they gave me a sword! And so we fought our way free of the building ’cause some of the Nazis were zombies like in Dead Snow, and they threw me in a car and I was wearing a blue dress for some reason, and we drove off in a beautiful 1948 Jaguar convertible down Birkdale Drive.”

Dad said, “You should stop watching movies like that, if they’re giving you nightmares.”

“What nightmare? THAT DREAM WAS AWESOME!”

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