Such a brief, sharp dream.
My wife and I were outside. Fat, wet snow fell, covered the ground, and blotted our vision. We were dressed for cold, so we were protected, and we were walking somewhere. A man said, “Hey, would you like some airline tickets?”
We laughed and scoffed. “Flying? Now? No, thanks.”
The man insisted, “It’s cheap and safe,” reassurances that amused me.
He seemed to miss my sarcasm and doubt. “Good. Where do you want to go? You can go anywhere for just three hundred and four dollars.”
“Anywhere? Can I go to Pittsburgh for that?”
“Yes, Pittsburgh, here you are.” He held out two tickets.
“Wait, is that three oh four each? Is it round trip?”
I was confused. “We don’t want to go to Pittsburgh. It’ll be cold there. It’ll be just like here.”
The man said, “You can go anywhere you want.”
My wife replied, “We want somewhere warm.”
“Yes, through there, those tickets will take you.”
Through where, we were asking him, ourselves, and one another. Then we glided out. A broad, flat green land spread out at our feet. Spokes of waterways divided the land into wedges. A metropolis served as a hub. A golden haze bathed it all.
“Where are we?” my wife and I asked.
The man answered from behind us, “Wherever you want to be.”