Dream

I had a really sweet dream last night, and for once it had nothing to do with snarfing pumpkins, which was a nice break.

I dreamed I'd arrived at an airport from somewhere, and exited the terminal to rent a car. I was with my boy and an elderly man with a moustache who, according to that weird dream logic, was his grandfather though he was nothing like either of his real grandpas.

The cars available for rent were all Porsche 911 variants. Silver. With black leather interiors.

You have to know that this was one of those incredibly vivid dreams in which every sensation, texture and thought is clear as day, and remains so for some time after waking.

We got in one of them, strapped the kid in the backseat and took up our positions in front. I could feel myself sink into the form-fitting folds of the bovine-skin seat. I gripped the steering wheel.

I juiced the gas a bit, and the car tried to jump forward like a tiger straining against a net. The parking brake was on. So I put the car in neutral, took the parking brake off, and began to press down the throttle slowly, hoping to achieve a nicely controlled launch.

The car started inching forward, and I can clearly remember thinking, "Wow, I have never driven a Porsche before. This is going to be soooo sweet."

And then: Beepbeepbeepbeep. Beepbeepbeepbeep. Beepbeepbeepbeep.

Happy Monday morning, chump.