The Little Fantasy that Get Me Through the Day

Sometimes, when I’m sitting in here eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I imagine a better life for myself.

It’s very similar to this one, except that someone is paying me to write, the Butcher has a car, we live in a little house I own, and I regularly have lunch with Ludacris down at the Country Music Hall of Fame. Lunching with Ludacris is the part of the daydream I spend the most time in.

I like to imagine what he’ll have and what I’ll have. We’d people watch. We’d wave at folks who looked at us strangely, wondering what that famous rapper was doing just eating at the Country Music Hall of Fame. We’d ask that guy with the guitar to play something we could sing along to.

After a few lunches, we’d come to have a kind of shorthand way of talking about all the types of people who hang out in the Hall of Fame, and he’d kind of gesture as someone came by, say something like “She’s embarrassing her kids” and I’d look over and almost choke on my Diet Coke.

And after a while, the folks at the Hall of Fame would realize that we were eating there frequently and beg us to take a look inside. Most days, we’d have shit to do. But sometimes, we’d take the tour. And it’d be weird, but nice.

3 thoughts on “The Little Fantasy that Get Me Through the Day

  1. I bet y’all would have some thought-provoking conversations. You have similar views on Bill O’Reilly, for example. And helping kids in the creative arts.

    And this time of year, chicken and beer out on the patio, maybe even while listening to Marty Stuart’s “Soul’s Chapel,” would be very nice.

    I might have to speak earnestly to young Mr. Bridges about “Move, Bitch,” though. Um.

  2. I have one involving Dottie West (dead) and the statue of Kitty Wells in the Loretta Lynn Wax Museum (gone). I guess that one will never happen.

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