I found this sign at the entrance to a residential street in Southeast Minneapolis. Apparently, the neighbors take the directives on their Do Not Enter signs very seriously.
An Ode To Bacon
Form me, the smell of bacon cooking will always be associated with comfort.
As a child, my family lived in Southeast Minneapolis. I remember a neighbor’s house burned down and shortly thereafter I had a nightmare about the place.
I dreamed that a friend of mine and his family were trapped within the burning house but they weren’t exactly my friend and his family. They were some monster-version of them, with big heads and oblong bodies. They were swinging on swings inside of the house as it burned.
And I could not save them.
I have absolutely no idea what, if anything, the imagery means but it was my first nightmare.
While it seems silly and ridiculous now, it was scary as hell then. But I awoke from it to the smell of bacon cooking from my mother making breakfast downstairs, and thus the smell of bacon reassured me that I was only dreaming.