Melatonin is for Pussies: The Raw Dog Dream Diaries — Vol. 1
A new occasional series, writing my dreams down before they drift away…
Leaving the restaurant, which shuts before feeding us, maître d screams “The pastry is loose” which might just be code, then announces a closure effective immediately. They need to get their food right, we are comped, and reimbursed and start to leave.
But a woman runs at me screaming, from I am the subject of her delusion. I pry her from my back and place her in a chair. I say in a gruff voice, “stay there!” Then think what else can I do to put over that I’m not to be fucked with, in a non-violent way. So I get close to her face and bark and growl, let out a large “WOOF!” And we leave, the maître d rushes more vouchers into my hand.
Outside, I’m breathless and in the throes of the spike of the Adrenalin which seemed to drive it all. Our friends arrive (faceless, nameless) and they absolutely will not believe this, I think. But instead, we talk about the house they just bought, and their difficulties finding a place to park.
