Last night I had a weirdly detailed dream in which I inherited a dusty old store that sold used books, men’s clothing of antiquated style, and in one dilapidated corner, corny statues depicting sexual acts. The customer base was about as one would predict from this mix, and all of the salesmen had been there for a hundred years.

So I swept in and decided to renovate the space and update the offerings, banishing the sex statues entirely, going for a more Banana Republic look for the clothing, and just organizing the books instead of leaving them stacked in precarious piles. I also fired all of the employees because they objected to my sensible changes and all had hair growing out of their ears.

I can’t really remember what happened after that except that I ended up calling the police to remove some hooligans from the location while we were renovating. I find that the older I get, the less patience I have for hooligans; by the time I hit twenty-five, I fear I will be positively intolerant!