I sleep all day under a quilt and two blankets and a cat.
I dream I go to a whorehouse for Christmas. This is a quaint country whorehouse with bare wooden floorboards, with landscapes on the walls. I am sentimentally teary as I look through a drawer of past Christmases, little stickers printed with snow, years, and stars.
There is a desk here and a door behindthroughwhich appears Santa from his office. There is a bed now behind me with a shiny paisley quilt. It is here where Santa and I will have sex, and this doesn't phase me.
But when I turn, there is Santa, lying on the bed, dressed in a reindeer suit, his head propped up on one hoof.