My brother and I were visiting New York for some reason.
In downtown Manhattan we ran into a man who was traveling by electric skateboard. I told him I was interested in electric vehicles, and that I had read about electric skateboards and seen videos of them, but this was the first I had seen close-up. The man responded by talking about a minor-league baseball team based across the river in Brooklyn. (When I woke up I assumed that there were currently no minor-league teams in the real NYC, but I researched it, and there are at least 2, and at least 1 in Brooklyn.)
The man's mention of the Brooklyn baseball team carried my brother and me to Brooklyn, where we stood on the sidewalk outside the stadium where a game was being played, and a ball came over the stadium wall and rolled past us and past the glass patio door of an apartment. Inside the apartment, a baby pressed up against the glass of the patio door, reaching out its hands to try to catch the baseball rolling past. My brother ran and got the ball and waved with it through the patio door, offering to the baby's mother to give it to the baby. The mother invited us into the apartment, which was full of children and dogs. One of the dogs tried to eat the baseball. I managed to get the ball out of the dog's mouth, and mentioned to the mother that maybe the dog was hungry. The mother answered that she couldn't see why, and gestured to a dog dish which was full of slices of turkey which looked and smelled plenty good enough for people to eat.
When I saw the turkey, suddenly my brother and I were out on the sidewalk in downtown Brooklyn. A young man was handing out flyers, and something in the expression on his face made me think that maybe the thing for which he was handing out flyers was actually very good. They were flyers for the opening of a soul-food restaurant. The young man smiled and nodded his head to one side. I took a flyer, followed the direction of the man's nod, and soon my brother and I had found the restaurant.
My brother and I weren't the only white people in the place, but all of the staff and most of the customers I could see were black. I returned the warm smile of the woman behind the counter, nodded at my brother and said, "This is my brother. He's afraid of black people. I thought this could be an opportunity for him to learn and grow." The woman laughed, my brother scowled. I asked if there was something on the menu which would be good for eating while walking, and the woman suggested an appetizer which cost $6. It smelled like liver and looked like a brown pile of assorted fried items. I took a plastic spoonful, and it was marvelously delicious. I went back to the counter and asked for a second plastic spoon so that my brother could have a taste. My brother took a bite and agreed that it was amazing. We went back and ordered more food to go. I asked the lady behind the counter, who appeared to be the head chef if not also the owner of the place, what exactly was in these appetizers. "Chicken livers and a lot of other stuff," she answered. I told her I had already assumed that much, and asked if she could be more specific, but clearly, this was a top-secret-recipe type situation. I got 6 barbecued chicken thighs to go. My plan was to put them in the fridge and see what they tasted like as cold leftovers. I was convinced that they were going to be tremendously good that way.
And then I woke up.
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