a tribute to MLK

Like our brother Martin, I too had a dream.  I call them hot flashes.  In my dream, people of all skin types -- dry, oily T-zone, freckled -- and all astrological signs, even vegans, would be able to enjoy ill 50% discounts off Savers erratically priced goods on certain days between the hours of 9 am and 9 pm.  And since it's my dream,  not that many of my fellow Seekers would be the sort of vulnerable adult who has to suppress a game-show scream when her eyeballs land on the very plain label (below) and she runs her trembling fingers sort of creepily over the wrinkly but kingly-heavy wool of this coat (above).  No,  in my dream,  most of my compatriots would walk right past this mofo,  preferring instead the pink faux fur Bebe expression of truck stop sex brand, circa 2005, right next to it.  Those white dots that look like grease from pizza cheese are not part of my dream -- they're part of my camera lens.  Dreams being pretty fantastical,  this coat would be marked $14.99 because it's no Tommy Hilfiger that's for darn sure.  Thus, in my dream, I run out of Savers having laid down $7.49 and I drive home fast and, flushed and glassy-eyed,  I show it to Dennis -- the label, the artful saddle shoulder treatment, the perfect cut -- and I make him feel how heavy it is and he too hops up and down and flutters his hands. 
Happy MLK Day, my friends!  If you do it right,  your dreams will come true.  Mostly.