Not necessarily antiques
So last night I went skiing with Ryan, Jayme and some kid they knew, who I've never met in real life. He was pretty cool, though, I guess. Real good skiier. Well, we all got off the lift and me and this kid whizzed by Ryan and Jayme. I skiied like a pro, despite slamming into a bunch of trees and people at a gazillion miles an hour. At the bottom of the slope, I met up with their friend who had also skiied really fast. We stood waiting for Ryan and Jayme. He said, "What's taking them so long?" I thought about it and suddenly realized, "Oh yeah. Jayme doesn't ski. She's just walking down the mountain." We decided to go up one more time and find them on the slope. Standing at the front of the line, the two of us were about to embark on the lift ride when I cried, "Oh no! My skis are on backwards!" By the time I reversed their direction, the mysterious guy was already half way up on his own. When I arrived at the summit, he had already departed. I attempted to find everyone, and in doing so, I took a different trail that turned out to be roped off and dangerous. The snowy path become rocks and grass and I grew concerned. Finally, I careened off a ledge and landed head first in a swamp that I thought at first was made of ice cream and hot fudge. So I tasted it. Spitting and cursing I discovered it was actually a toxic waste dump, so I took off my skis and waded through it until I found I was in the backyard of someone's house. I climbed onto the backporch and knocked but it was abandoned, so I entered it. Inside was incredibly frightening, with its cob webs and broken glass and grafiti'ed decaying walls. Being quite dark by now, it took me forever to find the front door, and when I exited and bolted down the driveway I found I was stranded on a desolate highway, somewhere in Tilton. I thought, "Oh man. I'm screwed now."
And then I woke up to today.
And then I woke up to today.