The New York Tragedy

Good morning New York! I wish. Last night I walked onto the stage, taking deep breaths as the stage lights lit my face. Millions of heads hushed each other as I began the play by introducing myself as “Atticus Finch.” A blast of smoke sifted across the stage and unseen shouts of “Witch” and “Demon” came from behind the curtains. Just as I’m about to say my next line, I’m awakened by the shrill, inevitable sound of kids screaming.
“Where’s the bunny? We lost the bunny!” my sister shouts. I wipe her spit off my face and groggily sit up. What a wonderful start to my day. Well, It’s unfortunate I can’t lucid dream, because then I would choose to become a star of my play again. Who says sleep lovers were procrastinators?

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