Friday, January 16, 2015

the white dog

by major stafford sternwall

last night i had a strange dream, a dream so strange i can hardly begin to describe it.

i was walking down a street and then over a bridge and a chap i knew in school passed me by without so much as a glance, and i thought, good heavens, am i going mad - does nobody recognize me, do i no longer exist - and i kept walking across the bridge which seemed to have no end, and i thought, i wish i had had a dog when i as a boy, and then do you know, the strangest thing happened, a big white dog came bounding toward me, the friendliest fellow you ever saw, and i thought, at last, at last i have a true friend, and then i woke up -

and i realized i was out of cigarettes. and the tobacconist would not open for another two hours at least.

how i wished i could go back to sleep and meet my friend the white dog again.

but it was no use. once awake, i can never get back to sleep.

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