Last night I dreamed that I was having breakfast outside at a cafe with someone—my sister? We were dissecting some kind of difficult-to-deal-with fruit, so it took me a long time to realize that the man in the plaid hat sitting next to me reading the newspaper was my (dead in real life) grandfather. I don't know whether I knew he was supposed to be dead, but I sure was shocked (and embarassed that I hadn't recognized him earlier). He was gleeful because he had tricked me. This was consistent with his behaviour in life—he once painted his face onto a picture of George Washington, painted a golf ball in his hand, put a sign on it that said "Sir Ronald Donald, inventor of the dimpled golf ball," and took it to show his golfing buddies. Supposedly about half of them believed him, although this could of course be more trickery.

RedFeather, by

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