Dream Line

It was two in the morning, and the radio host could barely keep his eyes open. The show was called Dream Line, and people called in to describe their strangest dreams.

“You're on the air,” the host said, with a long yawn. “Tell us your dream.”

“Well,” the caller said, “I was flying over the city.” “No plane, no wings, just me.” “And the police were chasing me, but they were all giant chickens.”

“Giant chickens,” the host repeated slowly. “Right.”

“And I was trying to escape, but my legs wouldn't move, so I started swimming through the air instead.” “Then my old maths teacher appeared and told me I had failed the test.”

“The flying test?”

“No. A maths test. From thirty years ago.” The caller laughed. “It was completely ridiculous. None of it made any sense.”

“That's a wonderful dream,” the host said. “When did you wake up?”

There was a pause on the line.

“Oh, I'm not asleep,” the caller said. “I'm driving home from work right now.” “I just wanted to give you something to talk about. It's a boring road.”

The host sat up. “You're telling me you made the whole thing up?” “The chickens, the teacher — all of it?”

“Of course,” the caller said. “It's two in the morning. Who's really dreaming here, you or me?”

The host looked at the clock, then at the empty studio.

“Good question,” he said, and yawned again.