Lost in a Maze of Dead‑End Alleys and the Cracked Mailbox

Lost in a Maze of Dead‑End Alleys and the Cracked Mailbox

I was late for my shift at the coffee shop, but the street outside my apartment was suddenly a maze of dead‑end alleys. I kept turning the same corner and ending up back in front of the same cracked mailbox. When I finally got to the shop, the register was missing and the barista was wearing my sister's coat – the one she borrowed last winter – and she kept looking at me like I’d stolen something. I tried to pull out my employee badge, but it turned into a set of house keys that wouldn't fit any lock. A regular customer, Mr. Patel, walked in and asked for his usual espresso, but his face flickered between his own and my old high‑school math teacher’s. I handed him a cup that was empty, and he just smiled, saying, "You’ve got it right this time." I woke up with my heart pounding, still half‑dressed in my pajama shirt.