Dreams, a commentary (No. 1)

Dreams, eh?  They’re just stories, right?  Stories your own brain tries to tell you while you aren’t paying attention.  They don’t really mean anything.  That’s what you’ve got to tell yourself.  Over and over, you’ve got to tell yourself that, that they don’t mean anything.  You have to.  Because if they did actually mean something.  If those stories your own mind was trying to tell you while you weren’t paying attention, if *those* stories meant anything, anything at all….

The End of the City of Lights

Augury of Miso en Place

They came first for Chef, who named his dishes by the wrong names.

They came for him in the night before the Feastday of Saint Martina of Rome, when they thought no one could be watching.  They interrupted his preparations and ignored his protestations.  Their passing left an orange stain in the air, a smear of light that did not dissipate.