I can’t remember exactly what happened in the dream, I just know that it’s worth trying to replicate.

I find the leftover coffee from yesterday’s stop at The Station and pour it into a mug. If I add cream and sugar will it not taste like day-old coffee?

The darkness.

It feels like pressure.

Another alien story.

Droplets on browning leaves. Raisanated grape clusters clinging to the vines. Everything is wet and sleepy.

Babka and chai. He is even more interesting in person. Smart. Smarter than smart.

Four caramels and an Italian batard.

The thudding of balls against the floor and the chatter and the laughter.

Patience.