I dreamed I entered a restaurant, and I saw Joyce Carol Oates eating noodle baby soup, with human fetuses floating in it. When I looked at the menu, it wasn’t there, so I asked the waiter. He told me it’s a special dish—you have to order it three days in advance because they get the baby fetuses fresh from Gaza.
The waiter was Etgar Keret. He had a wonderful smile, words were dripping out of his mouth, juicy and crispy at the same time, in total he was an eye candy, but even in the dream, I knew better—not to trust short story writers.
I didn’t have any money, but I was hungry. So I ordered their new Vertical AI Sushi Roll, which was named “Ocean Vuong.” That’s when I had to wake up. I couldn’t take such a nightmare any longer.
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