Dream Journal: September 30, 2013

I’m at a store that sells nothing but Halloween decorations. My friend works here, and I’m here to talk to her. After I find her, we both put on comically oversized leather jackets and step outside. We begin a long, drawn out, somewhat philosophical discussion of Demolition, the old WWF tag team. I end every sentence with, “I miss you.”

Eventually, the conversation devolves into an argument about whether or not Crush was the worst member of Demolition; I was anti-Crush, she was pro-Crush. At this point, her sentences end with, “you retarded son of a bitch.”

She tells me to fuck off, and that she has to get back to work. The Christmas decorations need to be put up.

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