So, last night I dreamed that The Barrow Downs was a book/hobby shop, owned by the
Barrow-Wight.
I went inside, noting that it had been completely redecorated since my last visit. I found
The Wight (who, for some strange reason, looked like
this guy), and told him how I liked the new look of the place. He then informed me he had, in fact, just sold the store, and that woud be his last day there.
Crestfallen, I said I wanted to stay in touch, and gave him one of my business cards. The phone number on the card was wrong, and I gave him another card. The number on that one was wrong too, and with mounting dismay, I awoke. Analyze
that, Freud.