8/30/11

Dream
Craig Scott


I am walking in a hallway. I come to a room with a door blocked by a man in a folding chair. He’s texting on his BlackBerry. I ask him for directions. He asks if I have a camera or recording device. I don’t. He tells me to go through the door behind him, not to stop, to the far side and through another door. The door behind him takes me into a strip club. I leave through the door on the far side, a fire exit (no alarm sounds), as instructed. I am outside, in front of a row of clubs in an open air mall in Baltimore. I find this odd because Baltimore is not San Diego. Every other store is empty and dark with a “For Rent” sign in the window. I walk through the mall, moving around debating Jewish women and a ten-year-old buying a handgun from a man in a suit. I find the parking lot, find my car, drive home. Over dinner I tell you about my day. You want to know how I got from Maryland to New Jersey in less than thirty minutes. I blink.


- - -
Craig Scott is an unimaginative pseudonym. More work will be/has been published under this name in Drunken Absurdity, Horror Sleaze Trash and Rusty Truck. A free e-chapbook is available from Ten Pages Press.


Help keep Smashed Cat alive! Visit our sponsors! :)




- - -
TTC

Weirdyear Daily FictionYesteryear Daily FictionClassics that don't suck!Art expressed communally.Von Singer Aether and Steamworks.Resource for spiritual eclectics and independents.Pyrography on reclaimed woodartists featured weeklyLinguistic ErosionYesteryear Daily FictionFarther Stars Than These

Older Weirdness