We were drinking tea the way they serve it in Cairo, in little glass cups with the loose tea still left in the bottom. But most people didn't know how to drink it and some of the people I didn't know thought they were shots and gulped down a few ounces of scalding liquid before they realized it was actually tea.
Then suddenly there was a campfire in the middle of the room, but it didn't seem to bother anyone, so I decided not to let it bother me. I was wearing a kilt and playing a rams horn. And someone grabbed bongos and congas and a djembe and we started playing crazy music and dancing around the fire. There may have been a didgeridoo as well, and an accordion. My brother Timothy (whom I met in Cairo) showed up with a guitar and started leading the who show, which was good because we weren't quite out of control enough until then.
The furniture started popping like fireworks and we cheered as the crackling sparkles rained down in the room and turned into fairies -- blues and greens and yellows. A tiny yellow one flew up and landed on the tip of my nose. I looked at him, quite cross eyed, and he started to dance.
I sneezed, and woke up.
Until this very line, the entire post was fictional.