A Dream

Last night I dreamt that Lisa and I toured my old house on Windlake Ave, one I last stepped foot in when I was four or five. I expected it to be in bad shape, given that the neighborhood has taken a lot of knocks over the decades, but I was wrong. A heavyset black woman lived there with her children, and it was in meticulous shape. She'd painted elaborate, gorgeous murals on each wall, and the layout was (what I remember as being) the same, minus some changes that were the subject of discussion with her. 

Then I was recruiting for a sports league, one that combined soccer and roller skating, and I was trying to think outside the box. I was at a Target and noticed the parents with small children were adapt at shuffling their feet to keep their kids in tow, and this mimicked the motion of the sport. I instructed my staff to scour department stores and watch for the movement, offering contracts to the best. 

Then I was at an elaborately long dinner table in a restaurant, part of a large dining group, and the server announced they would be serving pizzle. I said no thanks and suggested the group go to another place down the road.