She looks exactly like the girl I'd dreamed about last night. She's got the same sad beautiful eyes and she isn't even real. At least not to me she's not. How can she be?
I sure wouldn't. I run outside to see if I can catch up to her, but she's doing ninety in high heels and I doubt I could get a word in anyway after the chest-pounding chase she's giving me.
It doesn't miss by much. OK, I know my approach is a bit unorthodox, but I've got no time to come up with a game plan. Shit like this doesn't happen to an average guy like me every day.
But what else can I do? Who'd believe a story like that, finding a girl in your dreams eating a sandwich in a café by the side of the road in South Dakota?
SHORT STORY ANOTHER SAD CAFE Published in the BLINK Short Story Collection, Paper Journey Press. Another Sad Cafe. I'm sitting here in a toxic, greasy spoon just off the interstate near Sioux Falls where I sometimes stop for a quick indigestion fix on my way.
And what can I do? I throw up my hands and back off. "Hey I tell her, "I'm just trying to meet you. I saw you in a dream last night and wanted to say hello." "Well, how the hell come you didn't say something.
While all steps are fun, there is nothing like the final step-live recording-to bring the music to life. The remainder of the magic is in the the engineering. This includes microphone selection, room acoustics, after effects such as reverb, compression, filters, and so on.
No way she's real. Jesus, what have I been smoking? They must have put something in my coffee. People do that: muggers, thieves, sodomites. I've heard about shit like that. She gets up to go.
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Fortunately she's so terror stricken she can't remember where she parked her car, so I tell her, "I've got a eighteen-wheeler parked in the the lot, you want me to bring it around?
Unfortunately Doris and I didn't exactly work out. Turns out she's an ex-carnie grifter who trolls the interstates picking up suckers like me, and then fleecing them out of their life savings. But that's a whole other story.