Wednesday, March 16th, 2011

I remember only the very last part of the dream I had right before the alarm clock began to bleat: I was at a dirt-strip airfield waiting for a hop on a plane out of some little banana republic, and when it finally came and I climbed aboard I took one last look out the window as the plane turned to taxi to the end of the strip and saw a guy carrying my bags away to a dumpster. And I thought, Man, isn’t that every flying experience you’ve ever had, rolled up into one bitter little pill?

My plane landed at Farnsworth airport. I don’t know where that is, and I only knew it was called “Farnsworth” because, when I got off the plane, a really big, bearded guy who got off the plane ahead of me started walking around in circles on the tarmac shouting, “You suck, Farnsworth! You suck!” at the tops of his lungs. I punched him out, but only after he tried to hit me with his handbag, not to shut him up.

Farnsworth | 6:51 am CDT
Category: story time | Tags:
Comments Off on Farnsworth

Comments are closed.