Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream-

Sometimes dreams line up, single file, and politely wait their turn for my evening company. And sometimes they jumble together up front so that I'm not sure if I like the one I'm picking.

One night there were men with pustules on their cheeks who wanted to kiss me hello on the omnibus. In another there was a lecherous man on a bench who kept rubbing his cane. In another my Pascualena, a spinach and hard-boiled egg pie commonly sold in Uruguay, was filled with eggsshells only.

The fears behind their meanings is easy to discern, but their presence is such a nuisance.

And Holy Cow, it'd be nice if they were at least in English.

betholindo at 1:35 p.m.

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