Last night, I dreamt I was working in a comic book shop in Baltimore with H.P. Lovecraft. We were both in our late teens. H.P. was always trying to make extra money. He kept trying to convince me to hire him for singing lessons. And at one point he sold his entire comic book collection for not nearly enough money, which I thought was stupid. One day, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (he was pretty old) came into the store and was vaguely cruising us. H.P. was starstruck. He and Doyle ended up going outside and having sex behind the store. When they came back, H.P. was really excited, but Doyle looked totally underwhelmed. After work, I convinced H.P. to go out with drinks and he was horrified by how much money I spent on booze.

The End.

Not sure why I'm having such vivid dreams lately.