A Dial Tone

I’ve run out of dreams. For the past four nights all that’s been in my head, the entire time I slept, was a dial tone. I tell my friends about this. Everyone congratulates me. They tell me that they had secretly run out of dreams long ago. We go out to celebrate. My friend Thomas, who hasn’t shaved for days, leans in extremely close to my face. He’s had too much to drink. He tells me that all we can do now is wait for the night the dial tone goes silent, when whoever is on the other end of our dreams answers.

 
James Tadd Adcox

James Tadd Adcox lives in Chicago, where he writes and edits the literary magazine Artifice. His work appears or is forthcoming in The Literary Review, PANK, Another Chicago Magazine, and Lamination Colony, among other places.

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The Off Season

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The Bed Frame