A Quarter 'Til Extinction

    The bustling streets of New York City served as the backdrop to our unplanned detour, leading my sister and me to the doorstep of an elderly couple's house. As we entered their abode, a sense of unease settled upon my shoulders, for I knew all too well the importance of respecting one's dwelling. But my sister, oblivious to such concerns, carelessly trampled through their sanctum, stoking the flames of my frustration.

     Voicing my discontent, I admonished her for her lack of regard, demanding that she recognize the significance of our intrusion. She shrugged off my words, nonchalantly suggesting that I inquire if we could seek shelter within the confines of this unfamiliar dwelling. Exasperated, we stepped outside into the cityscape, where the twin towers loomed in the distance, casting long shadows over our uncertain future.

     News of an impending catastrophe reached our ears—an apocalyptic comet hurtling toward our fragile planet. Whispers of doom echoed through the air, as some proclaimed it to be an extinction-level event. Determined to devise a survival strategy, my family and a select few friends convened at a restaurant, hoping to find solace and a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

     Deep beneath the surface of our collective fears, a singular idea emerged—to seek refuge far below ground. My father, ever resourceful, recalled a hatch nestled within a nearby golf course, its depths shrouded in mystery. Yet, an unsettling revelation followed, as he revealed that he had overheard faint voices emanating from within, hinting at a clandestine presence.

     In the midst of our deliberations, a family friend, veiled in secrecy, led us to a hidden staircase—a portal to the unknown depths of the earth. Hope mingled with trepidation as we descended into the bowels of the earth, a motley crew bound by a shared desire to outlive the imminent cataclysm. Alas, our steps did not go unnoticed, for a group of wayward miscreants trailed behind, their intentions veiled in malice.

     Amidst the chaos, a figure representing workplace safety protocols chastised us, his fury ignited by our reckless disregard for OSHA guidelines. Panic gripped us, scattering our once united front. The malicious horde pursued me relentlessly, their malevolence manifesting in a vicious assault upon my person.

     As I stumbled homeward, bloodied and battered, the weight of impending doom and the twisted nature of humanity pressed upon my weary shoulders. In the face of an approaching cosmic reckoning, it seemed that even the bonds of friendship and the sanctity of safety guidelines were but fragile threads, torn asunder by the brutality of those who embraced chaos in the twilight of our existence.

I wake up

My Girl

Dream 3/29/2017

     I work at a thrift store. Every time somebody brings in a guitar I have to check it out. I love guitars. I'm over in the guitar section looking at some of the new merchandise when some co-workers ask for help in the back. The backroom is a giant warehouse. At this time we are setting up a huge number of chairs for a ceremony. I help with the chairs but we don't have enough. That night a thousand people gather in the warehouse and find their seats. On the big screen, we watch the movie "My Girl." So much has been cut out of the movie. It's like watching a whole different movie. I stand up at the end and voice my complaint to the crowd about the movie.

     After everyone leaves, we have an end of the world party. A few of the guys go out to get some ice cream but get drunk instead. On their way back to the party, they crash the van and tip it. I decide to go out and get myself an ice cream sandwich at a nearby gas station. I get lost. I never return to the party. Dream ends.

I wake up.