Do you ever have that dream where you’re in your favorite bar, just
kicking back with a friend or two and you’re having a drink and everything
seems nice and normal, but then suddenly the scene changes and you’re kinda
tense, kinda like you’re back in college and you’ve taken a hit of really
strong somethingorother and it’s just kicking in, and you turn around to
see, oh, I don’t know, Julianne Moore, and you go up to her, hesitantly at
first, then bravely, and you say hello, but she brushes you off, and you try
to say, “But Julie, it’s me, Richard! Don’t you remember me from college?
You dated my roommate? We had classes together? We did drugs in the faculty
bathroom together? Ring any bells?”, and from just looking at her face and
watching it change, you can tell she sorta remembers you, but she’s dressed
nicely and you’re not and she’s beautiful and you’re not and she’s famous
and you’re not and she just kinda sneers like she’s smiling but totally
insincerely, and she touches you lightly on the shoulder and makes her way
to the door, clearly happy to be leaving such a plebe-magnet of a bar?
Well, do you?
‘Cause I did. Last night.
Only thing: I’ve never even met the bitch.
sturtle [dot] com 