You Killed My Bird
Ignore for a moment how boring it is to listen to a story about a dream. Last night, after a series of gory nightmares, I end up at the tracks. We’re betting on horses. I’ve lost all my money. I’m there with my bud (no idea who he is though). I walk away for a while and go get some concession food. He screams “Red! Red! I won!” and then we’re on the phone with each other. I get unreasonably pissed that he doesn’t instantly offer some of his recently won millions to me (while observing that I’m getting unreasonably pissed). In a flurry of papers and blankets and pom-poms, he throws up a fist, for me to apply respect knuckles (though, the fist is hidden, I know it is there.) I prepare to punch his fist with the intent to cause pain, as a display of my unjust anger. As I’m punching, the world goes into slow motion, 3d-animated, action sequence - our fists collide, the world collapses into blue-gray x-ray vision, close-up. I’m worried that I might see his bones break. Then I notice he has a bird in his hand. Our normal world comes back, and he has this horrified look on his face. “You killed my bird!”
I can only assume this has something to do with the bird that I got Katherine for her birthday a few years ago that died within days.