[img]https://i.imgur.com/nalNq9e.jpg[/img] Some nights she dreamed. A shrink once tole her that folk dream every night, but jest don’t ‘member ‘em next mornin ‘. Abby could cotton that notion. Made sense. Way brains worked weren’t nothin’ she ever conjured, but seemed to her that even a brainpan needed regular cleanin’ out. [i]Jest takin’ out the trash.[/i] Easy peasy. Still, some mornin’s afore risin’ she pondered on the lost dreams. As she did, the old question come back around. Abby seen value pitched out in people’s trash all the time. Had been known tah crawl a dumpster once or twice fer somethin’ she could use, jest like she’d leave a perfect fine thing she’s finished with out fer others what might have need of it. But dreams didn’t work that way. If she couldn’t ‘member them as she had last night, how’s she tah learn their teachin’s? She seen dreams talked about in one ‘er two of her books. Struck her odd that most she found ‘bout ‘em come from folk what lived on Earth-That-Was. Chalk she liked to buy fer her drawin’s was called “Little van Gogh.” One time she looked that van Gogh fella up on tha cortex an’ learnt he’s a painter from long, long ago. Abby liked his work; he painted what he wanted, an’ weren’t skeert ‘o’ things not lookin’ like the real world. Seein’ what he did give her whole confidence in her own chalk drawin’s. “I dream my painting and I paint my dream.” She weren’t one fer nitpickin’ quotes, but one thing Abby had figgered out was most times the simplest things could give yah what yah need. Like her drawin’s, an’ the dreams behind ‘em. Abby pulled herself up in bed, bare feet hittin’ the deck. She worked the brush through ‘er hair once-twice, then grabbed a pair ‘o’ them new boxers fer slippin’ on over her unders. The sleepin’ tee she’s wearin’ was a man’s, an’ a few sizes too big, so she knotted it at the bottom afore risin’. Not set fer workin’, but she could git coffee without raisin’ eyebrows. The steps come easier this mornin’. She’s still a might sore, but walkin’ an’ movin about felt tolerable good as the girl stepped inta tha galley. Only folk in the room was Pen an’ Hook. By the look ‘o’ things, he done set ‘er up with some breakfast. Musta been good, seein’s how her plate had naught but a scrap or two left. “Mornin’,” she give a smile an’ a lift of her hand as she made for the coffee.