I was trying to sell something called the Atlas All-Macadam Tank Road to a chunky middle aged councilwoman wearing a red dress. She worried that the road might somehow damage the municipal park through which it would run. I assured her that I was a con man, and the road would not be built at all, and the town would merely have to pay for it. She seemed pleased, and agreed to recommend to the full council that the road be purchased. At this point, I realized that she was a pantomime dame, and that I was a character in a bit of bad English sketch comedy who was about to become the butt of some terrible joke. Then I woke up.
Had this not been a leap year, yesterday would have been Friday the 13th.