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Monday, February 17, 2020

Dreaming about Whataburger

Last night/early this morning, I had a dream that I was back at Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.  In the airport, I saw something I'd never thought I'd see there, a Whataburger restaurant. 

I had visions of small whataburger juniors and mini-pizzas for $1 a piece.  In the dream, I got close to a bite of each one of those two foods.  I came close.  Along the way I was in search of my son Ben.  He could have been anywhere in the airport. 

In reality, I woke up.  I haven't had a whataburger for more than a year down in Florida.  I had pizza within the last week, and I ate pizza bites yesterday.  I haven't been to Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in almost six years. 

I just had a homemade hamburger for breakfast here at work this morning.  I'm not even hungry anymore, only thirsty.

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