Endless Hallway to the Subway Gold Key Morning Dream

Endless Hallway to the Subway Gold Key Morning Dream

I woke up late for work and sprinted down the hallway of my apartment building, but the hallway kept stretching forever. I finally burst out the front door, only to realize I was still in my pajamas. I ran to the subway, but the turnstile wouldn't let me in unless I handed over a tiny gold key I didn't have. While I fumbled for it, I saw Maya from college standing on the platform, looking exactly like she did in our senior year photo—hair in a messy bun, holding a coffee. She smiled, but when I tried to say hello, my mouth was full of toothpaste and I could only squeak. The train arrived, doors opening onto a beach instead of the city tunnel. I stepped onto sand, and Maya was already walking toward me, barefoot, holding a surfboard. We talked about the project we never finished together, and I felt a warm, familiar ache. Then the train horn blared, the sand turned back into tracks, and I woke up just as the alarm buzzed.