The Time I Just Wanted Peanut Butter and Jam

This morning I dreamt that my real friend Arynn and I went out to a corner grocery store run by an old skinny guy. Arynn had never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, so I tried to tell her about them in Spanish to practice our Spanish skills. She wanted to try one for the first time.

However, the only peanut butter the guy had had m&ms in it and was waterlogged. He said he got a huge discount on his stock because water had gotten into the jars. I was like "No, thanks, Arynn can just use my peanut butter to make her sandwich," and Arynn started swearing like she does.

Next we decided to look for jam. I was overwhelmed by the choices. Some girl suggested sour cherry preserves, which sounded perfect so Arynn found an eight-ounce jar and took it to the register. It cost $7.56. Arynn said she wouldn't &$%# pay $@^& $7.56 for a #!%* jar of *&%^% jam. I said we should check in the display of one-and-a-half-ounce jam jars that the store owner probably stole from a mom-and-pop diner.
Most of the small jars were really old and the jam was separated. There wasn't any sour cherry, but there was some really old raspberry, some new marmelade, and some strawberry jam which I can't eat. There were also some slightly squished packets of flavored honey that looked like those foil-wrapped butter pats. I told Arynn she should get honey instead, but she didn't want @$#! honey because she wanted a pb&j sandwich. I needed to tell her that peanut butter and honey sandwiches are just like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

In fact, I was about to tell her when a very dirty guy about forty years old with worn clothes got in my face, introduced himself, and put out his hand for me to shake. I shook it, and he kept holding my hand. I yanked my hand away, and he looked very sad. "I know you're in a suit," he said to me, "and I've fallen on hard times, so I shouldn't be talking to you, but I wanted to meet you anyway."
"Um, thank you?" I answered. I was pretty sure he was going to ask for a handout at any moment, so I was debating whether to give him anything. Arynn frowned and sidled up to me. The guy looked like he was going to say something else to me, but Arynn pulled me over to the cash register so we could buy the old raspberry preserves. The tiny jar cost $7.32, and Arynn #$^&ing payed anyway because the dirty guy was shuffling towards us. We should have gotten the sour cherry after all.

The hobo reached us, and he started telling me in a low voice how his wife, Edna Mc______, was murdered a few years ago, and he hasn't found her killer. Arynn interrupted him and tugged on my arm. "Um, nice to meet you," I told him, and we left the store.

Arynn was walking really fast and swearing a lot about how I #&^$ shouldn't have !@&$ talked to him. "You don't @$^& have to #!$% go out with someone just to be *@^# nice!" she said.

"Ew, I know," I answered. "I wasn't going to go out with him! If he had asked me for my number, I would have just say no. I just wanted to be nice by talking to him." I thought for a moment. "He was telling me about how his wife, Edna Mc______, was murdered, but wasn't she an actress who was murdered like a long, long time ago?"

"Yes, in the 1920s. He's @#%$ delusional," Arynn said. And then I woke up.