Plane

Felix, my roommate, dreamt of me last night:

We were boarding the plane separately—he on the front and I on the back door, nearer the tail of the plane. For some reason, we were asked to leave. So off we went to the complaints desk. Upon entering, I showed my ID. Wasn’t needed, the security personnel said, but I kept insisting on it—in English. I was furious. Look at my ID!

Of all dreams, why that? No idea. But truth be told, I wouldn’t do that in real life at all.

Felix was grinning when he woke up.