With pulp

Work dreams are uncommon for me and unpleasant and when I have them i feel as if I’ve been working all night. Something was wrong with the press. I had 20 pages to do and it was deadline already. People were breathing down my neck and the cover, that I had already proofed and sent, couldn’t properly be printed because the press ran out of cyan. Or the colors I chose were too saturated, someone said. This was no concern of mine, nothing I could fix without having to change the entire thing and it should have been on the press already and it’s not my responsibility the press doesn’t have the right colors to use, but they were going to ruin it. And all these meeting began to happen about the cover. And one women I’ve never seen before said we should just outsource our designs and I almost quit. As if there is a walmart for page design, that’s where she wanted to go. And I stormed back into a small office that was too cramped and someone I don’t like very much had taken my comfy chair, the place was a mess with papers and wires and computers, but I had a large orange with me in my hand. And I went over to the window, bent down to find a small sliver of light outside and peeled my fruit. A new hybrid fruit, a mixture of orange and banana and upon unraveling the skin, the juice poured out of the flesh inside. It was the juiciest orange I’d ever seen, spilling around my hands, the floor. I don’t remember the taste, just the vibrant glowing color in my hand and the outpouring of sweet orange in them.

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