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The Night I Met George W. Bush

In the dream I was somewhere with a group of people and we ran into GW. Bush, just sitting at a table in a snack bar. 

030114-O-0000D-001 President George W. Bush. Photo by Eric Draper, White House.

We had a nice little chat and I decided that despite my opposition to his administration and the terrible things that happened around the occupation of Iraq that he was a nice guy and I wanted a photo.  Got out my phone, but it wasn’t working.  Someone else was going to take the photo, George posed with his arm around me, but somehow pushed me down so I appeared shorter than him.  Their cameras also didn’t work.

I dig around my pockets and pull out a battered gold flip-phone I’d never seen before.  George gives me a curious look and says, “Oh, that’s mine.  I must have dropped it in your pocket.”  We sit down in a booth, but yet again, even with all these people around, none of their phones work.  Oh well, George goes off with a wave.

I get up and pick up my bag, but it’s being stepped on by a large brutal man who looks like the stereotypical Russian thug from an old Bond film.  I ask him to get off my bag and he tells me with a throaty growl, “No.  It’s mine.  I found it.”  About then, I woke up.

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