The Fancy Café
By Craig Wilson
The smoke has cleared, and I’m in a fancy café.
As always, I can’t remember why I’m here.
My boss reminded me I needed to clean up.
I quickly realise I’m wearing the uniform.
I exhale. I reluctantly clean up the messes.
The proprietor spills some water and sneers.
A random colleague suddenly starts the strike.
Heck, I remove my coffee-stained apron.
My co-worker gives me my picket-sign.
My boss begs me to reconsider, however.
I ignore the boss. I leave the small café.
Thus, I wind up exiting this café dream.
The End
The above story is a loose adaptation of a dream I had. If there is anything you would like to ask, feel free to leave a comment, and thank you for reading.
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