Everyone says "Hi," except David Bowie.

     I won't bore you with the fabulous details of the first dream I remember having last night.  The second one would be more interesting to everyone.  Unless you're a frat boy.  Then the first one would be quite entertaining.  I say this only on the basis that there were frat boys in it, and frat boys love other frat boys, right?

     So, the dream started and I was walking through a mall.  Departments store entrances and Christmas displays.  It wasn't Christmas though.  The mall was dead.  Just a few people lingering around.  I remember passing some kids playing on a display, and smiling that approving smile that you do when you wish you were small enough to do the same, but have to act like an adult.  Outside of the department store was a grand lobby of sorts with a couple small stores.  It was mostly just a tucked away entrance, but this is where the music store was, and that's where I was headed.  This, apparently, was before the little music stores had shut down in the malls and been replaced by Hot Topics.  I went in, and began looking around.  The cashier actually greeted me, which made me feel cool.  To my left was a tall blonde man and a slightly shorter, but not much, blonde woman.  He was wearing well-cut grey slacks and a thin, Summery button-down shirt.  She was in tan, but stylish, slacks and a wrap around white shirt.  They were together, but not romantically.  Their body language was that of old friends.  I went to look next to the man and found that it was David Bowie!  I was shocked.  What was he doing in a small record store wherever I was in the dream in a mall?  As soon as I noticed, he was rushed.  A gaggle of screaming fans were asking for autographs, and I watched him pull out a pen and start signing.  I had my pockets filled with things, and I started looking for stuff that could be signed.  Receipts and money were what I found, but in my back pocket I found a thick napkin.  This would be it!  I waited patiently, pretending to be too cool to be phased by the throngs of people.  He signed and didn't smile, but didn't frown.  The daily life of a rock star legend.  Soon, the store was empty again.  Just David Bowie, his friend and I.  One more person came on the scene soon after.  "David.  I have this killer demo to play for you.  I think you'll really dig it.  My sound is [this obscure band] mixed with [another obscure band] with a little bit of a playful cadence of [a poetic description of Summer sounds].  Bowie agreed to sit down and listen, and this boy, who gave me evil looks from the time I approached, sat beside him with a tape player.  They both began listening, and the worst part is that Bowie was really getting into it.  I snuck inside the inner circle, and asked David for his autograph.  He took the napkin and a pen that I lent to him.  He turned away and the boy jumped out of his chair.  He began moshing with himself.  Slamming his head around and flinging his arms.  I heard the high drone of bagpipes in the boy's demo.  I said, "Oh, bagpipes.  Nice."  They both looked at me at that instant and stared.  Bowie handed me back my napkin, folded neatly into quarters.  I held it, warm from his concentrated hand, and then put it into my pocket.  The two got up and walked away to a back room to continue listening uninterrupted.  I stayed in the store and looked around a little more.  No one was there now except for some young kids looking at buttons in a display case and laughing.  I turned to leave and the cashier gave me a "that was pretty cool" look.  I smiled and took the napkin out of my pocket.  I was so much cooler than everyone in that store.  In that mall, maybe.  Definitely in that city.  I unfolded it carefully, and scanned one side.  Nothing.  I scanned the other and no dark marks were to be found.  Then I looked to the top edge.  There were two small splotches of a pale color near the top.  They were somewhat perfect reflections of one another.  A Rorschach if you will, of snot.  David Bowie had blown his nose on my napkin while I was watching the boy jump around.  I was crestfallen, and disillusioned and I awoke.  Who was he but a rock star anyway?  It's four in the morning.  More time for sleep.