Last night I dreamed that I died. I wasn’t old, sick or wounded in the dream, but my wife and I both knew I would die soon.
When I died, I was happy to discover that I could still walk around and that I wasn’t consigned to some sort of eternal torment.
As per tradition, no one could sense me, and I’m pretty sure I was able to walk through walls.
I tried to reach Amy and convey something to her, but it was to no avail. I wasn’t fraught over that, and she seemed reconciled to my death.
I didn’t fly In the dream, but I did walk into other people’s homes and places of business, where I made snide comments about them.
I was gratified to know that my wit would outlast my mortal existence.
My afterlife was like being on Twitter with zero followers.