Okay, here's the deal. You see these wires? They connect to a three-pronged simple network of DixieCupandThread phones. We want three talkers on an elemental network, see? There they are laid out in the street. A busy city street.

Someone is already talking to someone else, which gives me pause, because the wire is not hooked up yet. I go to hook the two sections. It makes no difference. They're still chatting separately just as before. I wonder if all talk is like that.

An added ingredient to the project is that the network needs to be positioned among a triangle of windows on the hundredth floors of three separate buildings. I guess they don't trust the phones in the rooms. So I make to fire the wire from one room out of a cannon with only sufficient charge to reach across the street to the next room, and then he will have to repeat the process over to the third room.

Wait a minute. Now I just woke up. I woke up driving a motorcycle. I was riding in the sidecar, which is now missing, and I'm at the handlebars now. I'm a bit irritated. He should've told me.

I arrive at a site. I know what it is, but am not cognizant of it, this being a dream and all - I mean, I dream I know but don't know while dreaming. It's like plotlines in an old B-movie.

The honcho of the firm wanders around with intent. I explain to him very cryptically and laconically that my partner, off somewhere with a missing sidecar, will be along. The owner has an agreement with the sidecar guy, not me.

I figure I better get busy doing something. So I begin stacking fried chicken parts. Grisly, but deep-fried, crispy, I place one on top of another and continue building a stack. Okay, I'm thinking, I'll do this.

A little kid is in front of the small table where I'm stacking. He is hungry, he says. I make to show no weakness, sentiment, but remove a leg for him. He says, thanks, but I won't need it until Monday.

I happen to think, it's Friday.