dreaming, whilst he
sat on a bench.

the old buzzard sat on a bench at the arden fair mall. he was waiting for some family to finish shopping, why else would he be there. they left their bags at his feet, and shuffled away, busy monkeys that they were. as he sat there, on that cold, brown wooden bench, people passed him by. child after child, woman after woman, yuppie after yuppie. he looked inside bath & body works, at the female workers with their smiling, friendly faces, and he wondered why he never had a smiling, friendly face. he slumped in his seat. and his eyes closed a little bit. sure, some people began staring, but what did he care. it wasn't a sound sleep, but more like sitting in the back of an air conditioned car in the middle of summer, going south for a very, very long time. his eyes turned to slits, and he began dreaming, dreaming, whilst he sat on a bench. first he dreamed of the house he could never afford. next it was the dream job that didn't exist. the imaginary wife he didn't have to argue with, and frequently feel inferior to. then he dreamed of a colorful nation of smiling, friendly faces. he dreamed that he had visited foreign lands, and he saw ruins of ancient cities. he dreamed he had hugged more people along the way, which, of course, he hadn't. when he had come out of this dream-like trance, he saw family coming his way. they turned to light, and they became so bright that he had to lie down. then, suddenly, it occurred to him that these would be the last dreams he would ever have.

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