Had a dream last night in which I was sent to get miso soup for the crew of OCC before their flight, in some fantastic version of NYC where all of the workers are Asian and all of the tourists are Eurotrash. From the bar where Jody gave me my order--and refused to give me money, telling me to seek out someone I didn't know how to recognize--was a complicated set of wooden stairs. Very steep. After climbing them, I found only more stairs. And more, and crowded areas of Europeans under umbrellas whose drinks I kept bumping into. I was losing my mind and with every step my feet got heavier and heavier. Little Asian feet will take you much farther; I couldn't figure out their efficiency, but they kept swooping past me with plastic bags full of hot food. Finally I broke down and asked a friendly-looking Swedish couple to help me interpret the address I was given. 96C79Z Street?
I was just beginning to see buildings when it occurred to me that I should have just ordered delivery.
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