Blueprints and Black Coffee at Number 44

Blueprints and Black Coffee at Number 44

I was walking home from the grocery store with two heavy paper bags, but when I turned onto my street, the house numbers were totally different. My key still fit the front door of number 44, except inside, the layout was flipped and the walls were painted this muted teal instead of beige. My old college roommate Marcus was in the kitchen frying eggs, acting completely normal, but he kept referring to me as an architect. In the dream, I knew I worked in logistics, but there was a framed architecture license with my name on the wall, dated three years ago. I kept checking my phone to see my real emails, but the screen only showed blue blueprints and messages from clients I didn't recognize. Marcus handed me a mug of black coffee and asked if I was ready for the site visit, and I just had this quiet, sinking dread that I had slipped into another version of my life by mistake and couldn't find the way back.