Updated: Jan 13, 2021
It was a hot summer's day and I had just arrived at my grandparent's house, entering the backyard from the alley through a short passage adjacent to the landlady's garage.
I was surprised to see that the once enclosed back stairway had been renovated and was now uncovered and freshly painted.
I looked over to the house on the left where Larry and Marie Zanen used to live when I was a child and saw Jennifer, who (in real life) was my neighbor at a different house and lived three doors down.
Jennifer was sweeping cob webs off the back stairs which were also now exposed, unlike they were when I lived at my grandparent's house as a child.
Just as I was about to make my way up the stairs to my grandparent's house, Jennifer called out to me asking why there were so many bats sleeping in the trees and what was the difference between the black ones and the red ones.
Though I was completely taken by surprise to see bats in the trees, I simply told her that they slept during the day and that she shouldn't be afraid.
As I started for the stairs, I was overcome by a swarm of dainty, frail-looking white insects that looked like dandelion puffballs, which I shooed away by flailing my arms.
Just as reached the top of the first flight of stairs, I noticed a lovely little planter sitting atop the bannister.
Looking inside the planter, I was astonished to see two odd, chubby little plants—one blue and one pink—that seemed to be alive, animated and almost human-like.
Just then—as I had quickly removed my iPhone from my pocket and prepared to take a picture of the strange flowers—I heard my daughters walking up the stairs behind me and before I could warn them not to make noise as to not frighten the little flowers, my youngest daughter pushed her way between me and the planter, obstructing my view and all but ruining my shot.
I scolded her for being so careless and as I moved her away from the planter noticed that during the scuffle she had pressed up against the blue flower whose face was now smashed.
Thinking that my daughter had inadvertently killed the little blue flower, its face suddenly pushed out and was back to its original state.
Then I woke up.
I was waiting in the street for a shop to open and removed my iPhone from my pocket with the intention of sending a text message to the owner of the rehearsal studio my band frequently rented, but there was a connection error and my message didn't go through.
Just then, a beautiful Cadillac sedan pulled up in front of me and a woman got out of the passenger side door and walked over to the shop to see it hadn't yet opened for business.
Surprised to see a Cadillac in Europe, I noticed it had two American license plates attached beneath the rear fender. The plate on the left was inside of a frame that made it impossible to see which state it was from. The plate on the right was also in a frame but hung upside down, which also obstructed the name of the state. I assumed for one reason or another the car's owner did not want anyone to see where he was from.
Next, the woman got back into the car and they parked just a few feet ahead in front of an industrial dry cleaning plant and I suddenly realized that the driver of the Cadillac was the owner of the plant, and I now understood how he could afford to have had a luxury car shipped over from the States.
The women walked over and greeted me and asked what time I was opening my shop and—remembering at that moment that I was the shop's owner—I told her I was just sending a text message and was about to open the shop.
Then I woke up.