manunderstress.com

I had a dream last night that I pulled up to Dunkin Donuts drive-through and David Foster Wallace was working the window. He very routinely handed me my order, two donuts – one glazed, one chocolate cake- and a coffee, and then conspiratorially asked if I had anything else for him. I reached into the glove box and pulled out a large manuscript and handed it through the small window. He looked at it skeptically, leaned forward and whispered, “No, you know, I mean for the bank. ” And so it turns out that in this particular post-apocalyptic dreamscape all the world’s banks had collapsed and now Dunkin Donuts would “hold your money” in mafia-esque black market accounts, because after all we need someone to hold our money. Are we far off from this (not the recently deceased writers working at Dunkin Donuts part)?