Listen, My Children...

Every Little Helps

Monday, March 22, 2004


I had the strangest dream. I was chatting with friends about Will & Grace, and then one of my mother's friends gave me a newspaper that had an article about a gym in Austin she thought I should go to. While I'm sitting outside reading the paper, a short and ugly policewoman with an odd and very breathy accent (somewhat vampiric-sounding) tells me I have to come with her:
"I heard your conversation earlier."
"About Will & Grace?"
"No, it was about Iraaahk." (That's what it sounded like.)
"ok.... so I have to come with you?"
"Just come."
"On what charge?"
"Well," she said with a sneer, "I'm sure you can think of some you wouldn't like."
So I go with her, and then ask if I can call my lawyer. She (surprisingly) gives assent, and hands me a phone. I know full well that I can never remember the phone number of my-uncle-the-lawyer, but I start dialling anyway, and then think: I should get Daniel Goldberg!
(Then I wake up.)


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