I leave Ronan’s house much like I did in real life several hours earlier.
A man at the bottom of his stairs looks up.
“Do you have a cigarette?”
“No, sorry,” I respond automatically, then continue walking past him.
He looks angry.
“You know, a few days ago there were a bunch of half-smoked cigarettes on the ground right here and some teenagers got into them.”
“Oh yeah?” I think but don’t say.
I turn around and he’s now initiating a similar conversation with a woman who’s also leaving the party.
I expect this wayward vigilante will keep trying to “catch” one of us and accuse them of being the one who allowed the kids to get into the smokes, so I text Ronan to warn him what’s going on.
The man sees me texting and isn’t happy about it. He charges as me and takes a swing. As his fist connects with my face, I wake up, fully refreshed.
Ronannoyed