I Stole 'Uncle Buck'

by Ivan R.

I was going home from work. Cindy had sent me a text while I was working telling me that she had gotten me a present, not for Christmas, but that I may consider it as such if it made me feel better. My car at the red-light began to tremble. The check-engine light began to twinkle merrily orange. A car sped by in the cold, lifting a small nebula of road-salt residue into the air, a light turned yellow, and I bent my steering wheel towards Symmes road. 

My car groaned like a gigantic geriatric monster, through the neighborhood, beneath the long sashes of lights on either side of the street. My head hurt and I took a hard pull of the cigarette in my teeth. Last night I had a vivid dream, about a story I had stolen from a very popular movie and surprisingly no-one knew-so; I was whisked off to hollywood (or wherever the hell I was; I was not in Hollywood; I knew this because I've lived in Hollywood; this was the hollywood Hollywood taught me, and it was also Wyoming) for multiple immediate movie deals. Eventually I was discovered to be fraud, but I had long since takenthemoneyandran to my bedroom (again, god knows where this impervious bedroom came from). There was a glass of ice filled water in the dream, on the table, during the second screening which didn't seem keeping in line with the rest of the dream aesthetically or spiritually; I stared at it, a woman distracted me from it desperately. Once she had left, I didn't bother looking back at the ice-water. The omniscience of dreamstate conveyed its melted wisdom to me immediately. 

I crossed over the tracks, behind me I could hear the demented whirr of the train whistle, I pulled left onto Foundation avenue. Should I leave Cindy? No. Should I stand her up? No. 

What she had was a brand new laptop for me. "I won it in a raffle!!!!" 

OK. I had gotten home, I plugged in the laptop (a small but wonderful 10"), and stayed up until four a.m., silently cruising my sleeping neighbor's broadband internet.