The Brooklyn street would have been empty, but it wasn’t. The street was nameless, but it could have been any street lined with three- and four-story brownstones. It was past dusk and the late-August temperature still registered in the low eighties. Summer was not ready for an early exit, although the night before had a September preview.

I was alone with my young heavyset brother with a ruddy complexion and real red hair. We look related because of our hair color, except mine was inherited from an ammonia-free dye. My actual brother was much older, thinner and has curly dark brown hair. The only thing that they had in common was that they both wore glasses.

His name was not mentioned, nor was it important since this was only a dream. But for the next three minutes, this was uncontested reality.

He knew that I was alone and needed something to cheer me up. He figured that having a few slices of pizza might help. Comfort food was meant to comfort those who were besieged by stress if not cure its source. Snake oil wasn’t used in the sauce and olive oil was healthier and tasted better.

We walked into the pizzeria called Joe’s – a no frills joint that refused to fall under the gentrification ax. It didn’t boast about being around for more than forty-years, using the same old-country recipe. It was a neighborhood hangout that served good pizza.

The pizzeria would have been empty, but it wasn’t. We were there and so was a young blond woman who was our friend. I didn’t know her, but I wasn’t aware of this since she was part of the dream’s plot.

My brother decided to rearrange the tables, anticipating a large gathering. The tables were worn-out from years of service. He continued to create an L-shaped setting while I sat across from the blond, listening to her story.

I didn’t smell any pizza or see any activity other than what was happening at our table. My brother didn’t pay any mind to the conversation. He was too involved with his plans for the evening. The blond was upset. I felt compassion for her, understanding what it’s like to feel empty inside after a break-up. My head lowered. I began to cry. My words went AWOL like the pizza.

The bedroom seemed empty without light or sound. I was alone again, relieved that I was home and Monday was two days away.