Paul is about to tell me to get out of the road.
In a classic watch what you eat before you go to bed, I had a vivid dream of somehow being responsible for reuniting The Beatles in the 70s.
I was playing hopscotch in the parking lot of an apartment building and a girl playing in the grass asked if she could play too; I said sure. There was chalk, jumping, striped shirts, and laughter. I asked her name and she said Mary, pointing to her little sister, said that's Stella.
I said I had a little sister too and looked around for Candi but she wasn't there; said I had a sister Gia who was riding her bike, and she replied me too my sister Heather is around somewhere.
Mary tripped, and I pulled her out of the way of a gold Cutlass. The man in the car recognized her but I was worried about stranger danger, and pulled her aside. A boy got out to play with us, said he was three and he was Sean.
Being protective of my new friend, I told the man that if he wanted to talk to her and me, he had to talk to our dads.
Suddenly Ringo is my dad (apologies to the real Jerry). Mary's dad is of course Paul, which means 3/4 of the Beatles are now talking in the parking lot of this random apartment building. There's a park across the lot, with benches, suddenly there are guitars, and someone says "Let's call George." He shows up with Dhani in a baby Bjorn. There's a jam session in the park, and as I'm waking up to make sense of it all, I theorize this is the advent of the kiddie rock genre, and I envision myself on the cover of Rolling Stone's Kids Who Rock issue as a hero to all music lovers, while eating an apple.
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