Dreams and Delusions of Granduer,
a short short story
by Samuel L. VanGeison.

"Where am I?"
"In a boxing ring, you nitwit."
"Who are you?"
"I'm you. I'm the rational voice inside your head."
"What am I doing in a boxing ring?"
"Take one wild guess and two shots in the dark as to why, numbskull."
"Why would I be fighting?"
"Well the rent is 2 weeks overdue and the purse of this fight is two hundred dollars, or so the bartenders says."
"How did it come to this? I had such great plans for myself. I was going to be King of the World and not one person or one thing was going to stop me in my stride for victory. Nothing."
"Bud, right now isn't hardly the time for reflection on your mistakes. You have a mouthguard and boxing gloves on for a reason. Focus on the task at hand."
"Where's my manager? Shouldn't he be giving me this pep talk?"
"Well, currently, your manager/father is building a grand pyramid of shot glasses of Jack Daniel's past at the bar."
"It's the 14th round, right?"
"Good to hear that bull of an opponent of yours didn't completely beat the sense out of you. You'll need a miracle and a half to knock this guy out of commission."
"I still get paid, right, even if I lose? Fifty dollars, right?"
"Don't even think that way."
"Why not?"
"That's my job. Now, they're about to start the 14th round. Get focused, and knock the snot out of him. Ya hear me?"
"Yeah, I hear ya loud and clear."
"Do me a favor, will ya?"
"You mean us."
"Whatever. Just try avoid the guy's left hook, I'm getting a headache."
"Gotcha."

The bell sounds. The drunk spectators roar and shout in unintellible languages. The two fighters approach each other. The lights go out as the subway passes underneath their feet. The smacking sound of glove against flesh and bone pierces through the combination of the vulgar speech of those neanderthals and the all but distant rumblings of a subway train. The lights come back on, and a young man raises his gloves in victory as his opponent lies at his feet. Somewhere, amongst all the growling of the drunks who lost their bets, a pyramid was toppled as the manager ran towards his last hope. Two hundred dollars, he thought, that's a lot of JD. The bartender smiles as he hands over the all ten of those crisp twenty dollar bills. "Always bet on the underdog," he says," You always win big when you are down and out."

And the young man wakes up. All a dream. He's no longer the down and out underdog boxing for cash, throwing away his well-being so he can have a place to live. He was sleeping in his nice, comfy dorm room far away from poverty and empty stomachs. The campus clocktower tolls not once, but twice. Nope, he was just late for class.