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Where Dreams Do Not Go

Mags walked out of the bedroom. Lately, she had trouble sleeping at night and she couldn't fathom why.

She made a cup of coffee, using the one-cupper on the counter. She needed to taste the oils once again; it was a soothing comfort.

The cupper signalled that it was finished with a huge gurgle. She took the cup and put in two sugars and a dash of cream for colour. With cup in hand she stood out into the balcony.

The cool breeze was a comforting blanket around her; she saw the steam from the coffee rise and dissipate like sailors on shore leave. It was a cloudless evening and she could see the stars shining ever so brightly in the velvet sky.

"It is a beautiful evening, isn't it?" Trump asked. He was sitting on the railing staring over the vast city.

"That it is, my good friend," she replied after she took a sip from her coffee.

"Having those nightmares again are we?" he asked.

"I rightly don't know," Mags replied honestly.