By Harrison Giza
In my dream last night, I grabbed dinner with Kevin Spacey, as most dreaming people due. The food was beyond divine… buttery crisp rolls, steaks coated in A1. American beauty at it’s finest.
As we ate, he pulled out a cigarette and started smoking. It was like I was watching an episode of House of Cards or Seven right before my eyes.
“I didn’t know you smoked Kevin.”
He glared at me. Hatred in his eyes.
“MY NAME… IS NOT… KEVIN. IT’S HOLLY!”
Then I woke up, which is great because I was definitely NOT paying for dinner.
Here’s to better dreams.