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August 19, 2005

Volume 5, Issue 19

Tell the truth: a scene from a dream you had last night.

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Michele: Roll Over, Paul Krugman

We flew through a dark sky, enjoying the feel of soaring like birds, when we saw a ledge on a white mountain. On the ledge lay an enormous coffin, partly covered with dirt. An inscription read:

Paul Krugman. Died 1812.

I said, “Whoa, Paul Krugman lived before! I wonder what he wrote about in 1812?”

One of my fellow flyers tipped the coffin over. Krugman's corpse came tumbling out and flipped over the ledge, bounced down the mountain and landed in a grassy field where it stood up, dusted itself off and proclaimed, You have not heard the last of me!

[This is actually an old dream. Last night's is none of your business]

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