I woke up this morning at about 5 am, with what I can only assume was a caffeine headache. Dream-wise, I explained the pain in my head by imagining that I had gotten into a car accident. My fault, of course. But I also, for some reason, dreamed the first paragraph of a novel or short story, vividly imprinted on my brain, and written down at 5:01 for your personal edification:
Upon hearing of my presumed death, the good people of Laredo, Texas slaughtered several cattle in my honor. As they later explained to me, the thinking was that either the spirits would keep me company on my journey, or the smell of barbecue ribs would bring me round if I was still alive.
I have absolutely no explanation for these sentences. I don't know why I am presumed dead, I've never been to Laredo, and I have no especial fondness for the smell of ribs. All I know is that, at 5 am, this is what I wrote down.
That is all.