I Love Fried Chicken

I have this recurring dream…

I’m flying a starfighter of some kind through a canyon. Am I being chased? 

"Rogue One, what are you doing?," my headset squawks.

"Uh… is that me?," I ask.

I nearly scrape my wing against the canyon walls. 

Something’s not right…

"ROGUE ONE, PULL UP! PULL UP!"

I pull as hard as I can on the steering column and I fly straight up. I punch what I think is the throttle and hit the afterburners. I’m rocketing straight up. I can see where space and the atmosphere meet. I roll and pitch forward to start a nose-dive and then I see it. That wasn’t a canyon at all. 

It was a basket of fried chicken. I was either a tiny ship, or that was a giant basket of chicken. Fuck it. I hit the throttle again and make a beeline for a drumstick, and all I could think was, “Man, I love fried chicken.”