The sound of fury jolted me out of sleeping. I'd been dreaming about moss-colored flip-flops, and in my dream I was telling my companion that there was no way they'd fit me, because they were tiny size-five sandals. So when I heard a man yelling, "The fuck I will! Who the fuck does he think he is? He's fucked if he thinks I'll still be his friend!" it took a moment to realize that I was awake, and not merely dreaming about flip-flop disagreements.
More profanity plunged into my ears, and from them I pieced together a plausible story: The yelling man had been wronged and wounded by a friend, and he was covering his hurt with anger. "I don't need that sort of fucking 'friend,'" he bellowed. "He doesn't deserve my friendship. He's not fucking good enough for it." It sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of this sentiment. Hypnagogic, I slowly tuned out of his ranting and rolled back into slumber.
More profanity plunged into my ears, and from them I pieced together a plausible story: The yelling man had been wronged and wounded by a friend, and he was covering his hurt with anger. "I don't need that sort of fucking 'friend,'" he bellowed. "He doesn't deserve my friendship. He's not fucking good enough for it." It sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of this sentiment. Hypnagogic, I slowly tuned out of his ranting and rolled back into slumber.
Labels: sleep
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