Count Your Fingers
“I must be dreaming,” he thought. He glanced at his hand and tried to count his fingers. It took a few tries, as his hand looked really blurry, but he counted five on both hands. “So, I’m not dreaming,” he muttered, unable to decide whether this was good or not.
“Jerry? That you?”
He whipped around to find Alyce, his loathsome neighbor, coming over the hill. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You’re supposed to be in Taiwan!”
“Not at the moment I’m not. I just took my helicopter from Taiwan, it let me off over the Empire State Building, I flung myself from the needle & landed back here.”
Jerry blinked. She looked to be dead serious. “But how could that happen?! I mean, the only place that could possibly happen is in a dream! And I know I’m not dreaming!”
Alyce smiled smugly. She put up her hand. “How many fingers do I have?”
“Five,” he answered, counting carefully. Her smirk widened unpleasantly.
“Ah, but I count 7, which means I’m dreaming, but you’re not.”
He gulped. This did not bode well.