Chicken John speeds by in a gloss black muscle car with Dave Capurro, punk as fuck. I’m a bit sad and a bit jealous.
In the next dream, we’re moving out of the Fartpartment and renting it — renting our own bed, even — as an AirBnB. Very sad dream.
Last dream, I’m walking though a Toys ‘R’ Us filled with adult household items such as buckets, shelving, diapers. The ceilings are low and the products are stacked dense. The whiff of bitter necessity has bloomed into a stank. Also a sad dream, in it’s vile yet eternally popular pragmatics.
So, all sad dreams I guess.