glam.

laying sideways on storyteller's bed with my feet hanging off of the side, glam laid down next to me. our bodies formed a ragged 'L' ... and we both have the same name.

"do you ever think they mean anything?"

"what, dreams? well, some people think that freud and jung and all the new age freaks just have shit for brains, but i've seen too much...."

"in your sleep?"

"yeah."

"what do you dream about?"

i turn my head away and close my eyes ...

"worse times."

"i had a weird dream last night."

"all dreams are weird ... unless you're lucid."

her nod was softened by the pillows she rested on.

storyteller and buddha shared a bowl and prose in the other corner of the room.

"do yours ever come true?"

"the fantasy-princess-american dream come true type shit? or are you speaking prophesy?"

"as in, did you dream this moment years ago?"

"probably ... but it's rare that i remember them. i'm not helpful because i don't remember my dreams about moments until moments are happening ... i guess i'm not motivated to know the future before it comes... and then, i knew it was going to happen in such a ripped off way."

"does it bother you?"

"no. does it bother you?"

"the only thing that bothers me is that you don't talk about them more..." and she takes my hand ... "i want to help you dream a better world."

her thick black eyeliner, smudging, fading, collapsing, traveled down her cheek. glam sat up.

just then, the "rushmore" soundtrack's opening notes sang through the smoke ... glam looked over her shoulder at me, a deep maroon smirk crossing her lips, "that's last call music ... time for us to head home."

and she took buddha's hand as i drifted to sleep.