She told me that she wasn’t well. She only had a few days to live and she wanted to make the most out of the life she had left by prancing through the streets in a bright red dress and dancing shoes. The streets were made of cobblestone and the buildings around the city were glittery and purple. She was dying of polynesia.
"Polynesia is a subregion of Oceania and is made up of over a thousand islands," Wikipedia says.
Perhaps eating too much instant macaroni and cheese is affecting the way I’ve been dreaming.
The neighbor’s house is being renovated. Carpenters have been hammering nails into wooden planks every morning for the past two months. While they are at it, they tune in to their FM radio and sing along to love songs that speak of repairing broken hearts. When they’re through with the hammer, they grab the drill and go on working. My head feels like a wooden plank.