My father was a somniloquist; he only talked to me in his sleep. Lured at night by his one-sided conversation one room over, I would escape the cot I'd grown out of, gaze at my sleeping mother, and ... [+]
With a bit of whistling and a roll of the wrist I slipped into some rusty overalls to go parading around town and when I came home sputtering evening with coal in my hair my wife said, You're not my husband, you're a train and who was I to disagree? So I went to the rail yard, had a good sleep, and towed three tons of bricks to Bismarck, for which the locals were quite grateful.
