lucyoncolorado

In which people from the trucker convoy and a guy from a podcast are staying at my house...

Trucker convoy people arrive at my house demanding room and board. Tom Sexton is with them, wearing a skimmer hat and a wrinkled flannel shirt with a pin-on badge that reads Press. I stand on my front porch begging everyone to wipe the mud off their shoes as they push their way into my house.

Everyone is loud and demanding food so I rush into the kitchen and start cooking shepherd's pie. My counters are conveyer belts and the ingredients come to me faster than I can assemble them. I put green jello on the bottom, hamburger meat on top, then mashed potatoes and cheese on top of that. I serve it to the truckers. A woman trucker with a shaved-underneath haircut takes a picture and posts it on Instagram. She labels it #JelloTrudeau and everyone laughs as if this is spectacularly witty. They start chanting Let's Jello Brandon! over and over again, then they scoop the jello up in spoons and flick it with their thumbs, flinging green jello across my muddied house.


In which I discover a secret room under our bed...

I'm vacuuming under the bed when the edge of the hose gets snagged on a nail in the floor. I push the bed aside to investigate, and I see light shine up from around the sides of the floor board. I use my rotary cutter to remove the piece of wood as if it were fabric, then I lift it out. I look down into a dining room with a rustic wooden table set before a stone fireplace. An old woman kneels in front of it, rubbing two sticks together and trying to start a fire. I shout at her to stop because her fireplace has no chimney and it would set my bedroom on fire. She tells me that while my house would've indeed burned down, it would've given me immortality but now I've spoiled the ritual. I ask her if she's the one that set the porch fires in Sequim, and I rush outside to see a deer in my garden box eating my tulips.