Kurt Vonnegut

I had a dream yesterday afternoon that I had met Kurt Vonnegut. I was in the front yard of a house belonging to a family who were very lazy, and mostly slept all day in the same bed together. The fence of this front yard was made of wire and iron. it was not very attractive, and nor was the front yard. it was a very sunny day, although a dense fog had settled in across the neighborhood. From down the sidewalk, a stout old man, with a strange hat on came bicycling down the sidewalk. He looked like a ripe old Mark Twain, and he had a winter coat on. At first glance, it would appear he was not dressed for the season, but upon second glance, it was clear it did not matter to him, and he appeared quite comfortable. I knew immediately it was Kurt Vonnegut. I waved hello, and he stopped his bike on the other side of the fence.

"Hello!" I said.

"Hello," he replied, cheerfully. I wanted to ask him if he was Kurt Vonnegut, but out of respect for a celebrity he didn't nessecarily cherish, I abstained. "I read in the obituaries this morning that God died." He said. "Says he was over 6000 years old."

"That's not a bad age to be," said I.

"Not at all," he said, grinning. I patted him on his back and we both chuckled in delight.

"Mr. Vonnegut, may I shake your hand?"

He recoiled, with an expression of distaste. "NO! No, I don't do that sort of thing anymore."

"Well, that's okay. Perhaps I'll just give you another one of these then," And I patted him heartily on the back again. "And away you go!"

He said nothing, and with a wide grin, began peddling down the sidewalk, into the thick bank of fog. Soon, he had disappeared from my view entirely.