the white dog

by major stafford sternwall last night i had a strange dream, a dream so strange i can hardly begin to describe it. i was walking down a street and then over a bridge and a chap i knew in school passed me by without so much as a glance, and i thought, good heavens, am i going mad - does nobody recognize me, do i no longer exist - and i kept walking across the bridge which seemed to have no end, and i thought, i wish i had had a dog when i as a boy, and then do you know, the strangest thing happened, a big white dog came bounding toward me, the friendliest fellow you ever saw, and i thought, at last, at last i have a true friend, and then i woke up - and i realized i was out of cigarettes. and the tobacconist would not open for another two hours at least. how i wished i could go back to sleep and meet my friend the white dog again. but it was no use. once awake, i can never get back to sleep.