I dreamt this morning that I visited Harlan Ellison. Not in the playhouse he and Susan occupy in the real world, though. In my dreamland, they were living in an urban area in one of the storefronts of a strip mall. I never got inside, however, as Harlan came outside to greet me and talk. There was a dry cleaning shop immediately next door, and the owner stood in his doorway and watched us as we had our conversation.

We showed off signature sheets of our future projects to each other, and cooed over the illustrations we had gotten. Now that I’m awake, I can no longer identify the artists or the books in which the drawings were meant to appear, but the intricate color artwork was amazing. It was a pleasant, warm, friendly conversation.

One of Harlan’s publishers arrived to discuss his next book, so I said goodbye. We made plans to meet again before I left, though.

As I took off, I noted a large sign in the parking lot which contained a giant comic-book word balloon the size of a car, meant to be filled in by old-style movie theater letters, or the kind you see used in church signs. Beneath it was a note to Harlan’s visitors which seemed aimed more at those fans he wouldn’t come out to see. They were invited to fill in the balloon with quotations, and if Harlan liked the saying he would leave it until the next visitor came along to change it.

As I crossed the street, I had to leap to avoid getting hit by a bus. Then, walking back to the train station so I could head home, I got lost. I woke as I wandered.

It was 6:15, and I would have liked to roll over and get another hour of sleep, but could not. I had Harlan on my mind.