Derailment Dream

There’s a light on the dashboard of our car that just won’t go out no matter how many times we visit the mechanic. Last night Amy dreamed that a new light suddenly came on. The one that alerts the driver that the body of the car has become detached from the chassis and is hurtling forward off its axles.

My five-year-old, 8-inch plecostamus died recently. I put it in the freezer so Amy could photograph it if she gets a wild hair. Yesterday bought a new one, a young one, just three inches. Will grow it up from a “pup.” This will be the last fish I buy from the old Chinese lady at the dank, smelly aquarium shop across the street. She’s going out of business and retiring. Most of her tanks were empty when I went in yesterday. It’s the worst aquarium shop ever, but I like going there because it’s fun trying to communicate about fish with someone who speaks almost no English at all. Goodbye, old pleco. Goodbye, dank, smelly aquarium lady.

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