Shirt Dreams with no filler

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Last night I went to a party. There were many more men than women at the party. It seemed like everyone was kind. This was a dream I had, because there wasn't a party unless you want to count hangin' around a bunch of literati waiting for something, though I'm not sure what they were waiting for.

As the party moved on into the late night, I was standing by the fire, nursing a crappy Manhattan. From clear across the room, there was this impish woman smiling at me. I smiled back.

At that precise moment, I noticed that all the men were wearing the same shirts that I had in my closet. They were my my shirts, I knew this intuitively, but they were the same colors, the same patterns with the same cuffs, the same fabric. Several of the men were wearing the same shirt as an other, and these were my favorite shirts in my closet, so maybe they knew they were wearing my favorite shirt and they were trying to rub it in that my favorite shirts are not original at all, just visually appealing to me, my height and build.

Right after the ephiphany, I woke up.

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