I nodded off for a second as the carpet quietly flew through brassy pavements and broken glasses, moons away from the helipad. It has been a ride for the ages on a bicycle, a bus, a train, a helicopter, a subway, as it parachuted down the open skies, landing on top of an earthquake. It has driven itself through endless highways, baked the perfect cake, peaked through the window to seeing only one dope combustible cocktail, a blank paper in the open vent, the perfect scenario for the local community theatre troupe.

As the revolving door rotated in the circle of not so bleak cylinder non stop, I landed firm charging the batteries, shooting pesos in the air at the Up Stairs to mend fences and finding that perfect sausage to scribble away my laughter.

I cheered no more and just clapped. Clapped as I woke up shaken from the drunken stupor dream of small pinky dots. I winked as flashes of sparkling blessings bundled in one perfect bouquet of harmonious stars smiled in the air. I screamed as the engine light came on my dashboard. I swear, I thought I was in heaven and nothing could tell me otherwise, as I sailed through the stupefaction of conspiracies but nope; it so happens that I run into the stupid wall the other day and momentarily could not tell my story straight. There, go figure, I was asleep!  

©️ Angela Aguiar