4d • Fun
Good morning.
I dreamed I had a book cafe. It was in an old gallery that I closed down. Contemporary art was just pretentious. Ignorant. Stupid. Like Documenta. Now everyone was an expert on climate, collectives, and decolonization.
The air smelled of coffee and old wood. Outside, it was raining softly. Inside, it was warm and quiet in the way that only good books and good men can make a place quiet.
I woke up. No café. No regulars. No family. Just the rain outside the window and the smell of coffee that didn’t exist.
It was a good dream.
3
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Good morning.
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