Journal entry my dream:
The air in the faintly lit room hung heavy with the scent of nostalgia and secrets. The house, a relic from a bygone era, seemed frozen in time, its walls adorned with faded photographs and forgotten memories. I found myself in the company of strangers, drawn into a web of intrigue that clung to the air like cigarette smoke.
As I lounged on the worn-out couch, a mysterious figure emerged from the shadows. A man, with sharp features and a fedora casting shadows over his face, extended a cigarette toward me. His eyes, shrouded in mystery, met mine. Without a word, I accepted the offer, only to realize that the flame danced at the wrong end. A cigarette lit on the filter—a subtle signal, a cryptic message.
The stranger nonchalantly dismissed the mistake, feigning innocence as though the misstep was nothing more than a figment of my imagination. He redirected his attention elsewhere, as if the lit filter was a mere illusion, leaving me to decipher the enigma alone.
"Make me some coffee," he ordered abruptly, as if asserting his dominance over the situation. I rose from the couch, navigating my way through the murky shadows that clung to the corners of the room. The kitchen, a sepia-toned haven, welcomed me with creaky floorboards and the distant hum of an ancient refrigerator.
The coffee maker, an integral part of the cabinetry, stood as a relic of a time when things were built to last. As I went about the task, two shadowy figures emerged from the depths of the kitchen, their faces etched with the weariness of the years. They became my unwitting confidants as I spoke of a road trip to Las Vegas for two—a journey that seemed more like a distant dream than a tangible reality.
In the hushed conversation, I revealed the haunting truth—I hadn't done anything since. The road trip, a facade concealing a past I couldn't escape, had become a metaphor for the stagnant existence I sought to flee. The strangers listened intently, their eyes betraying no judgment, only a silent understanding of the shadows that lurked in every corner of the room.
As the coffee brewed, the air thickened with anticipation, the noir vibe enveloping the room like a heavy fog. The enigmatic man, still draped in shadows, awaited his coffee, unaware that the walls of the house echoed with the untold stories of those who sought refuge within its aging embrace. And so, the quest for escape lingered, intertwined with the smoky tendrils of uncertainty that clung to the dimly lit corners of that mysterious house.
