And then, without warning, nothing at all interesting happened.

I have dreams about living in large houses with wall to wall carpeting of an expensive and foreign make, filled with furniture that has been hand crafted from exotic woods and stones, and wearing designer clothes that make me look as though I had just stepped out of a glossy two page advertisment in some fasion magazine. Driving fancy cars with all the bells and whistles money can buy, that never break down, never need maintenance, never get stopped by the police. Owning swiming pools and big screen TV's and suround sound systems and fancy watches and jewlery. Eating food from a country where no one can actually afford to eat the very thing that I am stuffing my face with. You know, something Third World.

Yeah, I dream of being slatherd in so much money that I never have to look at, or think about, my bank ballance again when paying bills or buying gas or getting groceries. I dream of having money falling out of my back pockets as I walk down the street, being trailed by junkies and bums and welfare mothers. Having the disenfranchised of the world follow me everywhere I go, in case I suddenly explode in a shower of cash and coin.

But then I wake up to my actual life.

And then I go back to sleep, because whats the point, really?