You wake up. You open your eyes trying to recall the dream that is right now evaporating rapidly into reality's thin air and you cannot grasp what it really was about. You sit up, hand searching for the remote control that slipped on the floor when you felt asleep last night. You turn on the radio with one push of a button and in a millisecond you hear Supersonic Man of Queen tune playing in your head. The song puts you in a right upbeat mood so you dress up putting on clothes scattered all over the room. You can hardly find two socks not to mention the matching ones. Let it be the token of my good mood then, you think to yourself sipping on an instant coffee. You realize you are already late but somehow do not feel the rush so you lazily open the door and leave the apartment.
You wake up. You open your eyes trying to recall the dream you just had but the Queen's Supersonic Man hinders any attempts of recollection. You glimpse towards the door only to realize you yourself is leaving the house. Dressing up quickly to catch up with yourself to understand what is going on, you put on unmatching socks and take a quick sip of instant coffee. You look out of the window checking if yourself is already downstairs. You see yourself looking around down there as if in a search of something. You leave the apartment in a rush and so impatiently that you take the stairs down rather then waiting for an elevator. When on a street you see yourself across by the bakery buying what looks like a bagel from where you stand. Red lights and heavy morning traffic slow you down so you follow yourself to the subway entrance. You go through a gate swiping your city card looking for yourself. You spot yourself at the end of the platform. No chance to catch up. You both board the incoming train but you are couple wagons behind. You push your way through a thick morning crowd of suited commuters, wagon by wagon. On reaching the last one you see yourself leaving the train so you do likewise. Up the stairs you ran pushing angry people aside. Just before the gates you reach yourself and you grab its arm. Yourself turns around.
You wake up. You open your eyes trying to recall the dream that is hard to grasp as reality sinks in. You sit up, turn on the radio and start dressing to the Queen's Supersonic Man song. Failing to find two matching socks you settle for the ones you could find, not bothering much about the appearances. You sip your instant coffee deep in your thoughts, missing the fact that you are running late. You leave the house while having uncanny feeling that you are being watched and for no reason choose stairs over the elevator. You try to decide whether taxi or public transport will be the mean of transport of your choice today. The bakery selling bagels across the street tilts your mind towards the latter. Going down the subway entrance you cannot shake off the feeling of being observed. You walk down the platform finishing your breakfast regretting that you did not get another coffee. The train arrives and you board the first wagon. Your brain goes into travel mode and bits and bites of your dream push their way through to your consciousness. Just when the train is about to reach your station you spot a man pushing his way through the crowd toward your wagon. For some unexplained reason you start to think that he wants to get to you. You leave the train and climb the stairs pushed by the ocean of people. On reaching the gate and when about to touch out someone grabs your arm. You turn around.
You wake up. You open your eyes lazily scanning the apartment, trying to grasp the fleeing memories of the dream you just had. Normally you would turn on the radio but right now you could not stand any uplifting tune like Queen's Supersonic Man. You sit on the sofa and light up a cigarette and while puffing you down, flat by now, last night whiskey and coke. You close your eyes imagining yet another dull day in your cubical filled with pointless memos, presentations that no one pays any attention to, fruitless meetings and shallow small talks with your quarter witted coworkers that you after so many years you started call friends. Yet another day at, what some call, work, in a respected and well known international company, but what you would describe as embodiment of hell. The perspective is so depressing that even the thought of finding matching socks is overwhelming and nauseating. Before you drift away you force yourself to stay awake and you go to the bathroom. You wash your face with cold water, which wakes you a little bit. You look in the mirror and realize that you are black. Your consciousness assures you that you are white and always have been and on the second thought you realize that you do not work in the office either. Well the glass is at least half full then, you think to yourself and you go to the kitchen, getting another fag on your way there. You grab, from the drawer, the biggest knife you can find, cigarette glued to your lower lip. By now you have realized it is just a lucid dream, or more precisely you are very much convinced it is, because at the end of the day there is no doubt that in your mind as to of which race you are. Still the idea of cutting off yours finger only to make sure you are dreaming borders insanity, to say the least. You leave the cigarette resting on the ashtray while putting the knife to your index finger. You apply pressure to the blade and start to feel excruciating pain.
You wake up. You feel your heart pounding and slowly, even reluctantly open your eyes recalling the dream that just has finished. You lift yourself up searching with your eyes for a remote control when your sight gets fixed on a three quarter burned out cigarette resting in the ashtray...