bacon

We're going to the movies!  I go to pick up my friend, Albert, so we won't be late.   After I meet him we drive a short distance and park.  Albert is opposed to parking, and when we get out of the car I see why.  He is barefoot, and he's injured one leg.  But the walk is relatively short, taking some short cuts through residential yard, and we're there.  Albert is pleased, as am I.  But maybe we're too early.  The movie starts at one and it's only eleven thirty now.  There's a huge crown in front of the theatre.  Some people are wearing costume-like clothing, dressed as typical 1970's suburban television housewives.  A man says something, perhaps about expecting a great film.  His hands are apparent, and as I notice them the skin peels open as if made of clay and shapes itself into clay forks.  The forks break off from his arms and fall to the ground.  This happens to another man's hands as well.  I realize now that these two are truly great movie fans.  Nevertheless, there's something sick and macabre about them.  Strips of bacon are appearing on the ground, cooked soggy, not crisp.  I hate soggy bacon.  Women are picking up the bacon and eating it.  There are now many dogs lazily laying on the ground, on their stomachs, eating the bacon too.  A few of us are revulsed and spit on the ground.  Although I haven't eaten any of the bacon my mouth feels revolting, and I keep spitting, slowly allowing the spittle to drop to the ground rather than ejecting it forcefully.