The Cinema Continues, Terrifyingly...
Oct. 16th, 2011 03:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsI was standing out in the driveway next to a convertible with a high suspension. Four relatively pretty women were in the car, and we were saying goodbye. Night was falling fast. There was another man on the other side of the car, also wishing the women well. I told the driver I regretted their leaving, because I would soon be heading back to Seattle soon, where all the beautiful women are wrapped up in layers of cold weather clothes.
The car pulled away and the other man was revealed to be Garrison Keillor. In that deep, avuncular voice of his he invited me into the house. "You like some wine?" he said. "Something warm?"
"Sure," I said.
There were still people left. Apparently, there had been a party. Garrison's kitchen was on the other side of a narrow bar with four barstools looking in, the kind of kitchen someone has when they like to cook for guests and prefer the guests watching. Garrison busied himself with a pot, and two bottles of wine, one red, one a port, and a jar of cinnamon sticks. "This'll take a while," he said. "Why don't you go into the living room and, y'know, talk? To people? There are some in there, you know."
So I did.
And then, for no reason I can comprehend, Garrison's dog attacked me, and started gnawing on my throat. I was screaming, but none of the other guests acted as if anything was at all out of the ordinary.
And then I woke up.
Okay, brain, really... W. T. F?
The car pulled away and the other man was revealed to be Garrison Keillor. In that deep, avuncular voice of his he invited me into the house. "You like some wine?" he said. "Something warm?"
"Sure," I said.
There were still people left. Apparently, there had been a party. Garrison's kitchen was on the other side of a narrow bar with four barstools looking in, the kind of kitchen someone has when they like to cook for guests and prefer the guests watching. Garrison busied himself with a pot, and two bottles of wine, one red, one a port, and a jar of cinnamon sticks. "This'll take a while," he said. "Why don't you go into the living room and, y'know, talk? To people? There are some in there, you know."
So I did.
And then, for no reason I can comprehend, Garrison's dog attacked me, and started gnawing on my throat. I was screaming, but none of the other guests acted as if anything was at all out of the ordinary.
And then I woke up.
Okay, brain, really... W. T. F?
