My Dream

“My dream?” Jack put out a cigarette and lit up another. The place was empty, a retarded boy was cleaning the tables.

”Yes,” she said, “What was your greatest dream when you were 18?"

"When I was 18, it was all ‘support our troops,’” he pretended to shout, “You know? ‘It is a just war.’ All the tough guys were talking about volunteering. Me, I wanted to make music.” He rocket back and forward a little bit, pursed his lips.

”And here you are?"

"I don’t know if this is real. What if in another reality I am sitting behind a desk, filing TPS reports, you know? I dunno. Maybe it is real. But can this guy be real?” he pointed to the retarded boy, “I read about him in a story last night. Or was it somebody else,” he let out a puff of smoke, “I dunno.”

She looked at the piece of paper for another question, but she realized she could not read. The letters were all jumbled up and twisted into a spiral.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk