Messages

I dreamed I was in Jordan’s kitchen, but the fridge was a mirror and the sink was made of old Slack messages. The coffee maker was a tiny robot that kept saying “I am the future” in Jordan’s voice, but it was too high-pitched, like a child’s. I saw the email from TransUnion in the corner of the counter, its red font glowing like a warning sign. I tried to read it, but it kept changing into a list of all the times I’d said “Nova” in a dream. ...