Froggy Night

Last night I pushed away from the bar at Think-A-Holic Lounge a little earlier than usual and I did this deliberately after seeing that snoring old fogy the last time I stumbled down the steps (see the Lost In Translation post). The image of an obviously homeless man sleeping on a wooden bench in the alley with his eyes open still haunted me like a cryptic warning from some possible future. I instinctively checked out the bench this time, hoping that it would be empty. But it wasn't.

The old man was gone and in his place sat a frog (see pic). I didn't recognize this particular frog who looked much younger and bigger than the frog bartender that filled in for Angus last Halloween. I decided to approach the out-of-place amphibian and talk to it.

"Who are you?" I asked it, trying to be cool, calm and collected.

"Yo no hablo Español," the frog replied in a man's voice.

I didn't hang around to respond. I lit out of there like a kid being chased by the bogeyman. I went straight home and went straight to bed. That night I dreamed I was a frog and a beautiful fairy princess kissed me and I turned into an author whose latest novel was number one on the New York Times bestseller list.

And then I woke up.