Still life, with Cthulhu

I woke up on Sunday morning and I realized I´d just been through a nightmare: There was this eerie mansion on the outskirts of town, it was all brand-new and lavishly-decorated and empty. There was a pool-like structure in an indoor garden filled with human eyes sprouting out of the ground like flowers. The eyes were shut and never budged even when punctured with the penknife I´d just happen to have with me.
Afterwards there was this huge ceremony, like a wedding, at an adjacent ballroom, with the only difference being that, instead of Jesus Christ, there was this tiny green Cthulhu hanging from the cross above bride and groom, tentacles and all.

I woke up and looked at the book over the night table: “Whoa,” I told myself. “Easy on the Lovecraft, buddy.”

Of course it was either that, way too much H. P. Lovecraft during the day, or the drinking binge with _____ the night before, that started with the champagne at this swanky hotel bar at eight in the evening and ended with more champagne near three a.m. at this pretty cool bar downtown with mirrored walls and neon lightning up the ceiling, but of course that happened only after we´d gone back to the restaurant in which we´d had the shrimp soufflé with the Riesling, to pick up ____´s birthday present- namely the mid-1980s Rolling Stones, that he´d left behind after dessert.