Clayton Garner (Clay) and Amy keep meeting in dreams. First, she unknowingly awakens him to his higher purpose, only to forget it ever happened. Now he must guide Amy through the thrills and chills of life and dreaming, as they unravel the mystery b...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Intro theme:
Amy studied the backs of her hands, from the pointed tips of her turquoise colored nails, to the faint little wrinkles above the wrists. There was something she was missing... something more important than anything else right now, if only she could remember...
"You get it all?" Sandra asked, scowling. "I swear, if I get my hands on those little cretins."
Oh. Right. Amy was checking her hands for ketchup splatter after two small kids, a boy and girl playing an enthusiastic game of cops and robbers, tore through aisle eight where she was stocking. It was cute at first (the girl had crimson hair like Amy's, so maybe she held a soft spot) until the taller, lankier boy fired a finger pistol at his friend's heart; she clutched her chest and fell back into the ketchup shelf in a slow, painfully dramatic demise. Five bottles hit the tiled floor and shattered, spraying half the condiment aisle--and Amy-- in dark, oozing tomato blood. Her new CloudWalk shoes were saved at least; a huge relief since they were as white as the name suggests, and remarkably overpriced for its promise.
Sandra, her manager, had brought paper towels and offered to "help mop," which really meant standing near the mop to gossip about Bryan in pharmacy. Amy was used to it, she'd been at this job long enough to know there was really no one to extend a hand.
It wasn't long before Amy was called up to work a register, and even less time before some cranky old lady was arguing over the price of bananas. To most, this would seem a very bad day at work; Amy just called it Monday night. She bit her tongue and explained, as smiley-faced as she could muster, that the store charges for each banana, not by the pound like in the dinosaur days, and that each banana would cost a dollar-four.
"So if you're planning to buy three bananas, Mrs. Larkin, it's going to cost you three dollars and some change. Your total is right here on the screen, but if you'd like I can find a calculator--"
"--Well in my day the customer was always right! Then you post-millennials got all 'woken' and now there's drone cameras everywhere spying on us shoppers, and 'employee rights'" - air quotes were applied to that last bit, performed by long knobby fingers trembling with years of abuse- "and now here I am being asked to pay over a dollar per banana. Per! Instead of by the pound as it should be!"
"Mrs. Larkin..."
"You know, I remember when water was free! Yeah, you could just step right up to the tap, and there ya have it. I want to speak to your manager!"
