Father's Day, huh. I could send you a present, puddin, but I don't think you'd like it very much.

Oh, that's a good one.

Slashing my tires baby girl with a sticky note with a heart and a Happy Father's Day.

I have every intention of ringing your neck when I get home from work. I do not do subways. Teenagers.

[It wasn't the nature of the dream that came as a surprise. She was a teenaged girl, and the Muse of erotic poetry to boot--such things were bound to crop up now and then. Somehow, though, this one was different.

The man had the face of an angel--what she could see of it, anyway. It seemed he was always half-cast in darkness. She didn't recognize him really as anyone she knew, but there was a familiarity there. His voice was so sweet... His kisses so tender... The touch of his hands so gentle... She ached with disappointment when she awoke. She'd never had a dream make her feel that way before...]

So... Am I the only one having strange dreams?