Last night I dreamed about Bruce Springsteen. The dream started in my childhood bedroom, where I went through my bookshelves and found a Russian novelist I apparently loved (Dovyovev - way to make up a Russian name, brain!) and an old used version of the fourth Game of Thrones book (important dream discovery - the series was actually published in the 70s, but no one bought it and so George RR Martin republished it recently, to great acclaim!).
The doorbell rang, and it was Bruce Springsteen, to see my parents. This made sense, because we lived in New Jersey, and Bruce, as everyone knows, is from New Jersey. I let them talk for a bit in the family room while hovering excitedly in the kitchen, eating an apple. When he got up to go, I caught him at the door to introduce myself, but my mouth was full of fruit. I shook his hand, and he said he had to run, so I never got to ask him about Woody Guthrie's influence on his music. Damn that apple.
But still, we were bros.
The doorbell rang, and it was Bruce Springsteen, to see my parents. This made sense, because we lived in New Jersey, and Bruce, as everyone knows, is from New Jersey. I let them talk for a bit in the family room while hovering excitedly in the kitchen, eating an apple. When he got up to go, I caught him at the door to introduce myself, but my mouth was full of fruit. I shook his hand, and he said he had to run, so I never got to ask him about Woody Guthrie's influence on his music. Damn that apple.
But still, we were bros.
1 comment:
i'm very jealous of this ability, Gen. Do you take requests? I'd love to know if Phil Jackson's coming out of retirement to coach the Knicks.
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