Dear Cyber Woman with Corn: It's me, Max. How are you? I'm doing well. It rained a bit today, but I'm glad it's Friday — I'm ready to relax.
Let me get to the point. I had a dream about you last night, Cyber Woman with Corn: you and I, walking down an office hallway, somewhere high above the city. The lights were flickering, and I couldn't see down to the end, but I knew, somehow, that we were walking toward an open window, and beyond that, a ledge. There was no one else, Cyber Woman with Corn; no one but you and I, and along the walls stacks of paper — old printer paper, with the perforated edges — and filing cabinets, dozens, maybe hundreds. There was a wind: I remember a wind, and a sound, like the unfurling of great insect wings, a brilliant and menacing metallic sound, and you turned to me — I remember this like it happened to me ten seconds ago, Cyber Woman with Corn — you turned to me holding your corn, your hair waving only slightly in the wind, your eyepiece glinting in the rhythm of the fluorescents and you opened your mouth, and — and — and I awoke, sweating, trembling, weeping into my pillow, great heaving sobs as though I were being exorcised.
I do not know what this dream means, Cyber Woman with Corn, but it troubles me. Please respond posthaste.