Boulevard of Broken Dreams V

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

rob-lowe-imageLast night I dreamed that all of the power went off, and we didn’t know what to do. I was out thrift store shopping with friends beforehand, and had to carry a huge carton of old LPs that someone bought, and then back at what looked like Joan Crawford’s home in Mommie Dearest we all started freaking out when the lights went out. Aliens, you know? Except maybe it was chipmunks? Regardless, we all started trying to decide what was essential to pack for survival. As we tried to tie together blankets and pillows, Rob Lowe dropped by and we started discussing his book about Zelda Fitzgerald. Then the family from Raising Hope met us in a parking lot, where we all parked our gear in an SUV and went into a Baus Haus building and assigned (imaginary) Elinor Wylie poem “Enter New York” to a poetry student for recitation just as the lights came on, and some ugly guy was hitting on us until we told him seduction wasn’t complete without Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Some other stuff happened, too, but I can’t remember it all.

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