I don’t recall the circumstances that brought me to the end of my dream early this morning, but the ending proved vivid. I stood amid a group of my friends in a dusky tavern, each of us holding a shot of whiskey in one hand.
“To Bubba Balloo, Fuller Brush
salesman!” one of my buddies bellowed.
With that, we all extended our free
hands high into the air, lifted one foot off the floor, and quickly downed our
shots.
“Bubba Balloo!” someone cheered from
behind me.
Just then, I awoke to my wholly quiet
and darkened house. My snippet of a dream was entirely without context or
depth, but I found myself wishing it had been real.
—Mitchell Hegman
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