Ornate mirrors, veiled booths filled with overflowing conversations, random drinks, velvet cushions, and middle-eastern colours. London had just caught the top of his beer bottle whilst gesturing and conversing. Beer splashed near the base of a lamp.
"Dash," he said. "Precious beer lost."
He went to find a cloth.
"It's four a.m.," said Xylo.
"Dayamn. We should get going," said Tell, leaning back into fat, rippling cushions. Xylo smiled, drank brandy, and had a moment of nothing, then London reappeared with a barman and a cloth.
"It's four a.m.," said Tell.
"Is that really the time," said London, reunited with his beer, "or just the highest number you can count up to?"
"Go 'way," said Tell. He saw a girl in need of a light, and went to help. He returned.
"'Go 'way' and 'more' are the only two phrases you really need to communicate anything," said London.
"I know!" said Tell and Xylo, in sync.
"More," said London, talking to his nigh-empty beverage.
"OK, I'm out," said Xylo, standing and downing the last of the brandy. "It's been real."
"Bye, Xy," said the others.

Xylo hailed a cab out front, although his house was only a fifteen minute walk away. The taxi driver glared at this news.
"Just waiting for a guy," said Xylo, holding the cab door open.
Tell got in.
"This one will do," said Xylo. "OK, let's go."

Back home, they counted their fish to make sure none had been stolen by burglars, then they parted for sleeping time.
"What's the week going to be like?" called out Xylo, loud enough so Tell could hear him through the wall.
"Partly cloudy, showers clearing," answered Tell. "No, I'm lying. Forecast is great. Elephants are great. Night!"
And so Xylo stayed awake for a while longer, thinking about the greatness of elephants. He finally slept.


Monday

White and red walls, chairs, tables, phones, poster art, and bookshelves. Barb was asking if anyone wanted to get sushi for lunch, because she knew a fabulous sushi bar, but it wasn't local, but she was willing to drive there if anyone wanted some too. She quickly gained companions and the office was abruptly made quiet. Xylo called Tell.
"I'm working," said Tell.
"I dreamt about a small red bar in a laneway, bursting at the seams with people, just the sort of place I'd hate maybe," said Xylo.
"I'm working," said Tell.
"But it's weirded me out because in my dream, well, it really seemed like I'd been to this place."
"Listening to a retelling of someone else's dream actually contravenes a few rules set by the Geneva Convention."
"You know, opposite the QV, like there's Revival. Then you go around the corner, there's a lane."
"Yeah."
"It was there, a small red bar. It weirded me out."
"That's Rue Bebelons. It's real. You're an idiot. I've had lunch there. Great baguettes."
"Really? It was a bar. Really? I've never been there, but I can remember, from the dream, there was like, decks behind the bar, music, and roses hanging upside-down from the center of the ceiling."
"You're an idiot, you must have been there."
"I've never been there."
"A lying idiot. I'm working."
"OK, later."
"Gosh! Bye."


Tuesday

Brick walls, bean bags, spray cans kicked around on the floorboards, an old TV, bright plastic Sesame Street plates and bowls and cups in the kitchen.
"Do you want to get pizza?"
"Oh Jesus H. God, yes."
"Jesus H. God?"
"Go 'way."
"All right, but not before I tell you about my dream last night."
"Oh Jesus H. God, no!"
"Oh, c'mon."
"For the love of puppies and kittens and all that is right with the world, no."
"C'mon, go easy."
"Let me at least order some pizza first."
"OK."
Tell made a big deal of ordering their pizzas and preparing the correct amount of cash and generally faffing about, wasting time. Xylo waited patiently.
"OK, so, my dream."
Tell mock-screamed and said, "I have to go home, I think I left the oven on."
"Sit down! It won't take long."
Reluctant and pouting, Tell sat.
"OK so, my dream: well it was exactly the same as the night before."
"I'm bored already."
"That's it - that's all I had to say."
"That it was the same? You saw a bar? Fantastic. Can I turn on that TV show where they talk about collectibles now?"
"That's it, man. Exactly the same. People spilling out of the red bar. And I mean - exactly - the same. The same people, the same music playing. Dream déjà vu, big-time, man."
"OK, great."
"If you turn on the collectors' show, I'll set you on fire."
The pizza delivery boy buzzed their door.