Last night I dreamed I was in my hotel living room, urinating powerfully. As I freshened up several people of various ethnic groups also entered the room, some fat, small, thin, athletic, gorgeous, even tired after a hard day of working. They began to undress and re-dress themselves, all as if they have either just gotten out of the shower themselves, or come home from work. The entire cast performed a brief, synchronized dance sequence. After this exchange, a hotel employee came by the door with room service as I was still dressing myself. The employee danced briefly as I turned away to grab a pen to sign for the meal. The dancers vacated when I sat down to dinner in front of the television.
Michailovic pushed his glasses back and sighed. “The following numbers are being released. ”The numbers came spitting out of Michailovic’s mouth, resembling in more ways than one a madman with a machine gun in a massacre. Hardly anyone showed any reaction, making it impossible to tell whether they were shot or not. The notable exceptions were a couple of smiles breaking out here and there as some numbers were being skipped. As the list carried on, Callahan realized that before long it would be zooming in at an alarming rate on his proximity. Callahan had no idea who those ahead of him were, but he could see that none of them were making the cut. He considered it good, after all the more gone before him, the higher his chances were. He looked up at Michailovic, almost trying to read his lips before the words were spat out. “116.” Callahan looked around, trying to identify the holder of this number. However, no one was responding. “117.” C...
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