The dream took place in a cabaret. There were opportunities for heroics. The mercurial knight spoke sternly to his paperwork, thus making war on clutter and rust with a service orientation. Tomorrow is the time for a flanking maneuver back to the north to rescue his captive yet still-snorting steed.

I can’t tell you how exactly, but it was something more than just a dream.

Aphrodite got her camera back anyway, and then we eventually absconded via the elusive trifold matrices in the fullness of time.