before it fades further
This morning's weird dream involved a gathering at Coyotegoth's place, where I was sitting on top of a four-drawer file cabinet, and we (including Soren, and several others) were discussing the short stories of John Sladek, Henry Kuttner, and one other writer whose name I've forgotten. Very pleasantly stefnal-geeky, with people walking around, pulling books off shelves to quote passages (1950s paperbacks, from the covers and the typefaces), drinking sodas, and occasionally indulging in "As You Know, Bob" dialogue.
I remember things, like sliding a bit on the satin covered pillow I was sitting on, root beer bubbles going up my nose, and one book's aged brown pages. I wish I could remember the third author's name, though.
I remember things, like sliding a bit on the satin covered pillow I was sitting on, root beer bubbles going up my nose, and one book's aged brown pages. I wish I could remember the third author's name, though.