GREETINGS, MERCHANT

From the dream pad that I keep by my bed when I’ve dreamed something noteworthy and wish to record it:

I’M AT THE SCHOOL OF MY FORMATIVE YEARS. WE ARE ALL ADULTS NOW. THEY STILL DESPISE ME. THEY BROUGHT THEIR CHILDREN. EVERYBODY IS UGLY. BALD, NECK-LESS MAN WEARING MY CRASS T-SHIRT AND A LONG SKIRT EXTENDS HIS UNUSUALLY LONG ARMS TOWARD ME AND SAYS, “GREETINGS, MERCHANT. WHAT GOODS HAVE YOU BROUGHT US THIS FINE MORN?” HE IS NOT NECK-LESS IN THE SENSE THAT HE HAS AN UNDEFINED NECK BUT IN THAT HIS CHIN BEGINS AT HIS CHEST. HE IS EITHER NOT HUMAN OR ELSE SOME SORT OF HUMAN HYBRID. HE IS BLUE WITH RED EYES. HIS TONGUE IS FORKED. AIRPLANE DROPS TELEPHONE FOR ME VIA PARACHUTE. I CALL SCOTLAND YARD AND SAY “IT’S TIME”. I VANISH. WHERE DID I GO? 

I’M UP.