There were corn-shaped egg sacs burst open on the walls, an embarrassing overlook of sanitation. Bright yellow stains surrounded them, and I could only imagine what sprang forth.
Then I swore my eyes were open, but I could alternate with those in my mind; in the dream they beheld, I held a small ironing board, maybe the counter-top kind, in my left arm, and from my lying position I had to raise it into view. My waking hand would be clenched but empty, yet I could see its contents “inside”. Had I dreamed this whole experiment, too?
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