Lobster: a dream

I am working out of town with a friend. Our hotel is old - unwashed cheap flowered prints, the stale musk of cigarette smoke and dark carpets. We have driven to this place in a 1960’s red Cadillac convertible. I have been out alone and when I return to the room my friend appears from out of the darkness with a cooked lobster in his hand.

They left us these, he says.