Philadelphia, PA

3:30 A.M.

CHARLIE'S POV :

I stare into the eyes of my gorgeous princess. She smells good. Kind of like dog piss, but mixed with a slight flowery scent. She's wearing an expensive dress. I don't know why or how, but I have a vague remembrance of buying it for her, except I bought it from this little old midget man, and he didn't ask for money, only seashells. I'm not sure why. I read once on , the dream analysis website, that seashells represent security and protection. Maybe that means I'll be secured and protected, or maybe it means I am secured and protected. Or maybe, it means that I was secured and protected, but now I'm not because I gave the seashells away...I'm not sure. But that doesn't matter, because only she matters.

I offer to buy her some perfume because of the dog piss smell, but then I say, "You know what, babe? It doesn't matter, 'cause you're still beautiful and you smell beautiful."

She laughs.

"I love you, Charlie," she tells me, leaning in and kissing me.

There's a light shining down upon us from heaven above, and I hear a man's voice speaking to us, telling us to get married.

"Will you marry me?" I ask.

She smiles.

"Of course," she says.

So we kiss and I find a blade of grass and craft it into a beautiful ring for her. I heard that grass represents fertility on . I do not know what that word means, but it sounds like a good thing. I like grass. It's pretty and it kind of smells good. Well, sometimes it smells good. Sometimes it smells like dirt, and that's really gross.

We kiss again, and then I put the ring on her finger, and I guess that means we're married now. I've never been married before, but it seems kind of fun. It makes me think of Disney princesses, but mostly Snow White, which makes me think of cocaine but that is not important.

I used to do cocaine, I also tried to sell it on the streets, but it's not because I'm a bad person or a drug addict. The first time I did cocaine, I thought it was a packet of sugar, but I was wrong.

I suddenly feel something in my hand, so I look down at it. It's a bottle of Elmer's Glue, but for some reason it has a cow on it, like that one brand of cheese. I shrug it off.

"Wanna huff some glue with me?" I ask her, smiling.

She laughs all romantically, "Oh, baaabbyyy, of course I do!"

So we huff glue together.

It's romantic.

There are doves in the sky, and the sun is setting behind us.

Philadelphia, PA

7:30 A.M.

CHARLIE'S POV:

Suddenly, I smelt something...wretched..It was a distinct smell, something I have grown to love overtime. It was very much like grilled socks. And take it from me personally, grilled socks taste and smell disgusting. Well, they don't really taste disgusting. Not that I've tried them, or anything.

I hear a faint noise, kind of like a child crying. It grows louder, louder, and louder...also it begins to smell worse.

I open my eyes, sitting up to find out what that ungodly smell stems from.

I let out a sigh of relief upon finding it was just Frank farting.

It was just a dream...The Waitress, the grass, the proposal, even the dog piss.

"How can I live with this...?" I quietly whisper to myself, staring down at my hand, like that one scene in that one anime...Genesis Evenglien, or whatever it was called.

"I cant keep doing this to myself", I thought. Every night, and every day, Its about the waitress.. Its always been about..her..

I look over to Frank. He's still sleeping, so I give him a light tap.

He rolls over, but he doesn't wake up, so I punch him up the ass (not like fisting, though. That would be weird. I'm not a weird person, just unique.)

He wakes up screaming.

"CHARLIE!" he yells.

I don't say anything.

"I had this weird dream-" he starts, but I don't care, and cut him off with a loud burp.

How could frank be so vain? So cold? So..smelly..?. I always listen to him, always, and instead, when I'm having the dream/time of my life, he awakens me with that disgusting gas that expells out of his butthole? I never thought I could be ever treated with such disrespect, but here I am..I guess..

Maybe I'm not here. Maybe this is actually a dream. I'm pretty sure it is this...this 'situation', that is actually a dream. I close my eyes and start tapping my feet together. It worked for that one girl in that one movie...about the witches and little people who sang a lot, so maybe it will work for me too.

"I...want to go home..." I start repeating over and over again under my breath, rapidly, for about 10 minutes until I give up because my feet are so sore.

"charlie what the shit are you talking about" said Frank.

"I wasn't talking to you," I snap back at his rude question. How could he be so...cruel to me? Waking me up from my dream. From the dream. The American dream...

"charlie, what's this about? did my fart get to you this time..? because look i told you we shouldnt have bought monkey from that asshole it was probably infested w/ diseases and its really affecting my colon please cut me some slack my old stomache cant take it"

"It's not you, Frank," I sigh, "it's not your farting either, I guess. It's just...me...and her. I was having this dream, anyway, ok?"

I begin to get sad, thinking about the waitress. And glue. And grass. Life is hard. Oh, yeah, and lets not forget that dog piss.