Last night I dreamed I was holed up with Anne Frank and her family in this upstairs apartment. Me and Anne hit it off in her room, giggling and pinching each other and eating peppermint patties. We were playing on her iPad (you didn't know they had iPads in Nazi Germany?) a game called "Kill Hitler." Anne would shriek with delight (in perfect cockney English) when she zapped Duh Fuhrer. Every once in a while she would grab this book and write something in it. What's that? I said. It's my Kitty, she said. Can I read it? No, my Kittly is mine and no one will ever read it but me. Hmmmmmm, I thought. Then there was a commotion downstairs and some heavy, heavy boots started stomping up the stairs. It was then that I woke up.
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