The Peddler

In my dream I walked down shadowed streets beneath a pale, haloed moon. The buildings and the pavement glittered in the silver light; everything was beautiful and ancient.

The man leaned against a broken wall, and smiled. I knew that he was waiting for me. His coat flapped in the wind, his hat was tucked beneath his arm, and a lumpy sack sat at his feet. His eyes were bright with moonlight, and his smile widened as he raised his hand to wave.

"Hello, hello," he said, and laughed. "And how are you?"

"I'm fine," I said, and smiled back. The wind howled. My eyes fell to the sack, which writhed and bulged.

"You wonder," said the man, "what is in my sack."

I nodded.

He grinned. "Dreams," he said, and chuckled. "Only dreams. I buy them for a pittance, and burn them in the winter when my family is cold."

"Dreams?" I asked. "You buy dreams?"

He nodded. "Oh yes. Everyone has dreams to sell. Don't you?" His smile widened further, sharp and happy in the moonlight.

And I answered.

I know that I answered, but I can't remember what I said. My words were lost in the gray tatters of the city as it unraveled around me.