Rubenerd

My good friend Seb informed me this afternoon that he'd had a dream involving me last night. I'll admit, I had a dream involving him too recently, and for his convenience I shall regale you all with it here to the best of my ability.

It was a particularly chilly and frosty morning, evidenced by the fact it was rather chilly with plenty of frost around. Also, it was morning.

The UTS anime club (and two people I knew from other places) had been living in a shared apartment in town for the better part of a few months, give or take the days when we'd been in cryogenic status to avoid having to deal with flus and other irritating illnesses. We'd saved a small bundle in public transport fares, which we used to pay the rent for a shared apartment in town. Cue Elton John's The Circle of Life here.

Given the temperature, Sebastian and I had ordered everyone to remain in bed on this chilly Sunday morning, while we braved the cold to procure sweet pastries of a highly unhealthy nature, and several large thermoses of tea. It would be my job to carry the food, while Seb wielded a rather large wand made of dried apricots to fend off the swarms of flying toasters that would feast on pastries and burn them, if they got their way.

Turning a corner as we rubbed our hands, we somehow found ourselves in a little side street off the Champs-Élysées. As you would expect walking around inner-city Sydney. Walking down this idyllic street with its rows of trees and buildings that all looked the same, we chanced upon an adorable café nestled in the ground floor of a turn of the century apartment building. The bus stop out the front had a giant advertisement for the Panty and Stocking anime, which I sheepishly admitted I'd never finished, but that I liked some of the art. Besides, someone who loves eating cake all day can't be bad, right?

Entering the café in order to get out of the cold and purchase foods of a warm nature, we strolled towards the counter to inspect their wares. It was a difficult maneuver, requiring us to climb a ladder on the side wall, the walk upside down across the ceiling.

Despite the classical French feel with blue and white awnings outside, the smell of traditionally baked bread and freshly roasted French style coffee permeating through the café, there was something not quite right about it. Seb agreed; for one thing the counter on the ceiling we had to climb a ladder to reach had a black marble top. It was just out of place. Then there was the Korean pop music playing lightly in the background.

The owner of the shop approached us while we were raising these concerns with each other. She had perfectly white hair and a large red hair band with red bows, as if someone had thought her hair was so wondrous, it deserved to be gift wrapped. Speaking in our finest German to her (wait, what?) we ordered what we'd come for, and soon after we left carrying several large bags of baked goodness. The bags of course being made out of old ThinkPads, which we had to keep closed.

Our next challenge lay in the bridge we'd crossed to get there. Somehow, a large alligator with the tail of an… alligator had swallowed it, as if it were a Parisian pastry of some description. Of course, the Seine only has one bridge crossing it (wait, what?) so we did the next best thing. Taking a few large steps back, we ran towards the river, jumped with all our might, and sailed gracefully back to the street corner some 100 metres away. I lost a Danish in the transit, but figured we'd bought such a vast quantity of sweetness we could afford to lose a few.

Turning the corner back to George Street, Seb took us to a basement book store that necessitated us spending 15 minutes in a lift. I wrestled with the implications of having a bookstore in the centre of the Earth, for one thing, wouldn't the books singe in the heat? And wouldn't the location have shockingly high rent?

We arrived back at the apartment having only left for a minute or so, as evidenced by the clock which had been mounted sideways and displayed its time in multiples of 4. We gathered up the food, spread it out across the loungeroom floor, then called everyone in to feast. Naturally everyone brought their blankets, quilts and other bed coverings, which we used to huddle up while we talked and watched a wood fire video loop on our large circular television

Usually my dreams don't end so clearly, but the last I remember was batting a toaster with my left hand back out the window while we laughed and talked.