A Dream

A young man dreamed this. This is not a naked dream. Not one of those about school. I am wearing a suit, and my tie is blowing in the wind.

It’s one of a few I remember. Most of my dreams, even the good ones, melt when I wake. I know I’ve had more good than bad, but I got stuck with this one.

As I wake in the dream, I am building a tower of suitcases. The tower is right next to a skyscraper in some big city, I don’t know which one. It’s a single stack of luggage, each piece on top of the other. The tower sways in the wind, but does not fall. I don’t know why I am doing it, but I am nearly done.

It’s a bad tower. The suitcases jut out, like a baby boy playing with his first stack of building blocks. Don’t ask me how it’s done. Are my feet perched on the handles?   I reach down for the next one, and place it on top of the one above. I pull myself up, and repeat.

I put the last one in place, and climb on top to stand. I lean out and grab the railing, and swing my leg over. I wake up.

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