It was a short, intense, vivid dream.
A white bearded man wearing a blue plaid shirt was chuckling with happiness. “I just learned that I have a best-selling novel.” He was carrying a dish and walking as he spoke. “For the hell of it, I checked to see if anyone else in town had a NYTimes bestseller, and there is. It’s a good thing I checked. What are the chances that a town as small as this would have two NYTimes best selling novelists?”
We, watching him, agreed, that was amazing. We were pleased for him because he was part of our little writing group.
He took the dish to a drawer. Pulling the drawer out revealed a faucet. Water gushed out when he opened it. As he laughed, asking, “How am I supposed to fill this with so much coming out?”
Then, in a startling shift, I was the man. I closed the faucet some and ducked the bowl under the stream and back out, filling it. Satisfied, I shut off the faucet and closed the drawer.