Last night I had the weirdest dream. I was in this weird place like some kind of factory or something that was littered with banana peels. I apparently was being chased by something and was just aimlessly running down the corridors of this place. Some places were hard to maneuver as there were narrow bridges with no guard rails and I risked falling down. There were all kinds of robotic devices moving about that I was avoiding in case they would cause me harm. There were also things like bombs and missiles randomly scattered around. Every so often when I felt my attacker was about to catch me I would spot some kind of spring that I would jump on and it would launch me into the air. At times I would see other figures in my way and not knowing if they were friendly or just trying to catch me I would either run past them or spear them out of my way.
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...
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