Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé2

Marie and I had the same dream. 

One night, it was the Caspian Sea. Us deep-sea diving for black pearls and abalone for mother-of-pearl. When we came up for air, there was a huge heap of steak and bangers and mash floating in a buoy with giant starfish patterns on it. A few yards away, a stray mandolin was bobbing in the waves. “What bad dream behavior,” Derrick murmured atonal, his chirpier dream like an antimasque.