Chasing an Avocado Through a Stretching Hallway to a Rooftop

Chasing an Avocado Through a Stretching Hallway to a Rooftop

I woke up late for work and rushed out the door, only to realize I was still in my pajamas. I sprinted down the hallway, but the hallway kept stretching, turning into the grocery store I go to on Saturdays. In the produce aisle, I saw Maya from my college art class—she’s the one I’ve always liked but never said anything to. She was reaching for the same ripe avocado I wanted, and we both laughed, but the laugh felt a little too nervous. I tried to hand her the avocado, but my hand slipped and the fruit rolled under a stack of orange crates that seemed to go on forever. I knelt to grab it, and the crates turned into rows of lockers like at school. A locker opened and a note fell out with my name on it, saying “Meet me at the rooftop after work.” I looked up, and the grocery ceiling became a city skyline at sunset. I felt a mix of panic and excitement, then the alarm buzzed and I woke up, still half‑thinking about that avocado and the rooftop.