Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Like Truman Capote’s Mr. Revercomb in short story “Master Misery,” I will buy your dreams. This just in… This just in:

“I passed out so hard last night and had the CRAZIEST dreams. I think somebody slipped me a mickey. Like, Mark-level dreams, like how Patricia Clarkson raped you. I had to arrange a funeral for someone everyone thought was my best friend but was actually my enemy, who had died while we were having an argument on a rowboat and she fell overboard. And I had to keep running back and forth into a reception hall place to change my clothes, finally settling on a skirtsuit designed by SJP. The last two times I ran through the hall there was a wedding taking place there that had been organized by Charlene from Designing Women. Not Jean Smart, Charlene. She got real mad at me. The last time, as I passed the caterers, I ate some of their pickled green beans, which were very good. Then Gary woke me up.”

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