Monday, March 29, 2010

I was in the lobby of a classroom building on a college campus.  The room was dim, as the windowed wall stood in the shadow of the treeline.  It was dark enough to obscure the print on the various flyers taped to the walls.  Animals started streaming in from outside, black bear, horse, polar bear, cow, so many large bodies that I felt a wave of claustrophobia.  I pushed my way past them, briefly getting stuck between the two sets of doors with the polar bear (she was too confused to find her way in).  Finding safety outside, I saw my girlfriend crossing the lawn towards me.  Her Newfoundland, Giovanna, was still inside.  I went back, squeezed past the polar bear and returned to the lobby.  I was shocked to find the black bear in flagrante dilecto, having mistaken Gigi for a bear.  The poor dog already has a bad uterus, so I pushed him off to protect her weak reproductive organs.  Luckily he hadn't fully begun, but when I pushed him off I saw evidence of his preparedness.  I herded the horse, cow, and Giovanna out of the building, past the polar bear still stuck in the doors.  The livestock fled across the lawn, and my girlfriend and I crossed the campus to the cafe and ordered blueberry buckwheat pancakes from a booth in the back.  The room consisted of a perimeter of booths around a horseshoe bar, with an open kitchen in the center.  This building, too, relied on natural light.  Its windows were set in the same direction as the first building, but it overlooked the meadow and took in enough light for a pleasant breakfast.

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