Alicia ran across her father’s golden wheat field. She had defied him and pledged her love to the young, handsome farm aide. Her sight caught a hold of him, her feet dashed in his direction. He glanced up from his work, his eyes engorged on the graceful beauty.
“Alicia,” he cried out.
“Lawrence,” she cooed, falling into his arms. “I have fled from mine father. Pray tell, speak unto me your thoughts.”
“My dearest Alicia,” he leaned in to kiss her sweet lips.
Alicia leaned in.
“Don’t stop believing,” he said.
“Pardon,” she politely stammered.
“Hold onto that feeling.”
“What?”
“Streetlights, people, oooh!”
Alicia closed her eyes. When she opened then again, she found herself fallen out of bed, clutching her pillow.
“Good morning San Francisco, nothing like a little Journey to get you moving! It’s 7:05 with a feel good 72 deg– .”
She reached for the clock radio and cursed her luck.
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