Washington, A Dream

I had a dream I was a football player in America. I was battling this one guy on the line. He was bigger than me, but I started taunting him.

"You are nothing, Washington!" I yelled through my mouthguard. "You might as well not even get up."

"You better watch what you're saying," one of our coaches warned me. "You don't want to get this boy mad."

"Oh, I've got no worries about cream puff here," I said. "He can keep trying all he wants."

Washington got up from the ground and squat down into the puddle of rain beneath him. He cocked his ass high in the air and let it bounce up and down a few times to loosen the action. Wasington grunted and then charged. He hit me square in the chest and lifting me slightly off the ground before I recovered and began pushing him back on his heels.

That was my dream. Now I head to America in less than six hours. We will land in LA. Then fly to Denver. Then get a moving truck and drive to Long Beach. I will document the adventure. It might be strenuous. I'm hoping for delightful.

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