There’s nothing better than a good old weird dream. I will try to describe the scene I remember. I was entering into some kind of coffee shop. Imagine the one from the Hopper paint but European style. Big panoramic windows and art-deco chairs. Old and classy. I take a chair and the girl with the apron – chewing gum – ask me if I want to try the Special. I agree without questioning what’s in, and in a couple of minutes she brings me a dish with what looks like a thick, deformed, caramel-coloured, sausage, accompanied with a couple of slices of a spongy bread that I’m not able to recognise and some vegetables. Cherry tomatoes maybe. “Would you like sugar or honey with it?” the blonde waitress asks. I think I mumble honey, then she places a bottle of the golden liquid in front of me. Maybe it’s a big churro, not a sausage. She sees my dubitative face and gesticulate cutting a slice with the knife and fork and pouring the liquid over it. I do so and I am surprised of the exquisite sensation in my mouth. It reminds me something but I can’t locate the memory. Actually I still remember the flavour in the wake – sometimes it happens – and I can tell you I will not eat it if offered for real I think. But it was definitely tasty.
A couple of men arrive then and sit close to my table. The blonde girl now is brunette. Or maybe it’s another waitress. I was paying attention to my sausage, maybe the other one left. I look tentatively to her ass, and I remember the popular saying about hair colour. “Thank you love.” The fat man says. “And bring me another of those sweet sausages.” He points to me. “Good choice. I’m coming here since half a century, they have the best $%^& (I don’t understand) of the city.” I don’t give conversation. His colleague? friend? looks at me and nods. There’s something like resignation in his eyes. They seem to tell me again with the same, don’t worry he does it all the time. The sweet sausage arrives. The speaker points to it. “Now you can’t find these guys around. All the shops are now fucking VR shops.” I don’t want to ask but I think he sees my confusion. “You don’t do VR? Then you are one of us! Who can understand these youngsters?” I nod. “I tried. I swear to god I tried it ” he continues, cutting the sausage into slices while speaking to all of us “but when I put those googles over my head, I automatically feel ill. They are all VR junkies, eating popcorn and drinking Cola, paying per hour! Instead of speaking one with each other directly, interacting in a virtual world. Ridiculous, right? Well, I say fuck them and their gadgets!”
Really. I don’t know where I dream, but sometimes I’m having fun.