Last night I dreamed that I ate in a restaurant, not a fancy one, but
one where you went up to the cashier to pay. I gave the very nice
young woman there a large bill to pay my check, and she handed me back
in change a stack of smaller bills, one of which was literally smaller
than the rest, printed on cheap paper and looking like Monopoly money,
with the oval in the center delimiting a portrait not of a U.S.
president, but of Allen Ginsberg. I said to her, "What's this?" and
she replied, "Sir: that's your change." I objected, "No it isn't.,
it's funny money! Look, this isn't a portrait of George Washington,
it's Allen Ginsberg." "Sir," she replied in the voice of one who has
been trained by management how to deal with difficult customers, "if
you'll wait a moment, I'll call someone to help you." Instantly a
chipper young management-trainee type appeared and asked me to follow
him through a door. As soon as we passed through it, he wasn't there
any more, and looking around I found myself in some sort of lavatory.
At that point I woke up and it was morning, and peering out from
behind the blind through the window I found that a blizzard had
covered the world in snow. Ach, and here it is nearly April.
--
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Jon Corelis http://jcorelis.googlepages.com/joncorelis
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