DREAM AFTER WATCHING A UNICORN MOVIE ON NETFLIX

The unicorn’s name is Harvey, at least that’s what his name tag says, which is shaped like the dozing member of Caravaggio's Victorious Cupid. Harvey seems an ordinary unicorn. At the top of his head his mane is shortly cropped and resembles a wicker basket and sits precariously on his head, the way a child sits alone on a bench after all the other school kids have been picked up, wondering if their father will always be hands off. Harvey has hands where his front hooves should be. His fingernails are long black coffins. And his dress is a sparkly menstrual red. It hits just above his knees which have eyes tattooed on them. One silver. One red. He is serving coffee in the Emergency Room waiting area. I look down at where my left ring finger should be. All I feel is the pain of its absence. I order a drink. I ask Harvey for a cappuccino with almond milk. He gives me a cappuccino cup filled with condoms. I let it slide. It’s Tuesday, and if the days of the week were sisters, Tuesday would be the least interesting one. I order a sandwich. No mayo. His graceful hands set the white plate in front of me and then he trots off without a word. I raise the sandwich to my salivating mouth and notice, there, in between the two slices of multigrain toast, are mayo-smeared packets upon packets of birth control pills, full. The walls around me turn to pools of fluttering danishes. I walk over to the tip jar, which is actually a motor-oil-filled fishbowl with soggy goldfish crackers floating at the top. I rescue my money.