Last night I had a dream with you in it. We ran into each other in some big, posh place, and we were each surrounded by a group of wierd, punky kids.
When I finally managed to get you off to the side and talk to you, we gushed over each other for a while, but then you insisted on going back to your group.
So yeah, I like to talk to myself. Yay levitation.
I reluctantly left, too, but then you got all indignant and mad that I let go of your hand.
Okay, wait, you're telling me this why? Look, just leave me alone, okay?
