It’s rare I remember my dreams. I’m often convinced I just don’t have them, but last night’s was just odd.
I was in my office with The Midget and our friend S. Someone was giving a tour to a transgendered teen (don’t ask me why she identified herself as such). Then, inexplicably, a bottle of pop exploded in S’s bag, shooting over my office like a fire hose.
That’s all I remember. Maybe this is why my brain pipes my dreams straight to /dev/null, they’re just too odd.