Billy's Dream #4ish

We were at the John Bull, that old pub that was demolished some 25 years ago over in the Arcade. I don't know who "we" were. One of them was me, but the rest were nondescript peeps of varying ethnicities, genders and ages.

We all sat on these king-size pillow looking things like the caterpillar in Alice and Wonderland. We all had gold and silver hookahs. I sat beneath the portrait of Prince Phillip. There was no sound save for Al Jolson singing "California Here I Come" from the jukebox across the room and the Santa Ana winds blowing outside.

I went outside and it was daylight and very starkly bright and colored in light pastel blues and sandstone colors. The wind was fierce and there was white smoke roiling off the roof of the Sire Bar down the street. No fire, just smoke.

There were no cars, no people anywhere to be seen.

And then I woke up, walked into the kitchen and ate a Poptart.

I was sorta hoping the Ray Bradbury would come running out of the Sire.