I don't even know where I go in my dreams anymore. But I awake up feeling like I have jet lag. Maybe I had a layover in Singapore. Maybe I went from there to somewhere else. The waitress on the plane over Hong Kong asked me twice if I wanted peanuts and 7-up because I was asleep the first time and didn't answer. A professor of literature from Oxford told me stories of medieval knights as we cruised down over London. I fell asleep again in a nice hotel with sheets so soft I felt held by them. That's what I would like to imagine my dream night was like. But I rather think, given how I feel this morning, that I was on foot, that I walked a long way through brambles.
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