Sometimes, when Dorian sleep talks, it seems his (considerable) vocabulary is set on "word salad." Tonight, as he fell asleep on the couch, was one of those times.
Dorian: "I got them to stop using the two liters. Now they're using parts of some guy named Logan. The kids were...nonplussed...lunar...you don't have to be surprised when we get home...Adom, I figured it out...how you can be robust in public...pay taxes to the black guy...he took all the cashews. I'd do the same, come to think of it...Lemon pepper...jelly...Morocco...Adom, don't, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not done. Don't listen to that fool, Adom! Gamestop is bad, no free tacos...ever. When you're out on the bridge with your friend, you don't turn on the weather, right? No good. Not nearly enough tartar sauce...Got to let 'em tie it. Does the name Lord Dunsany mean anything to you?...Dun-saney. Lovecraft read Dun-saney. That's where that name comes from. Ok, mystery solved. I can have a bit of wine, now..."
(He stirs and realizes he's fallen asleep on the couch.)
Dorian: "I think I'll go to bed, now..."
(He drifts off again, and startles awake, alarmed, a moment later.)
Dorian: "Uh! Do we have figs?"
Me: "Um, no."
Dorian: "Ok, then, I'll just go to bed."
(He falls asleep again, and the song on my early music Pandora station changes. He awakens again, startled.)
Me: "You okay, sweetie?"
Dorian: "Yeah, fuck flutes, dude. This flute song is incongruous with my idea of a brat."