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The hazards of caffeine-induced dreams

| April 6, 2018 1:00 AM

I had a dream.

No, nothing like Martin Luther King’s mighty speech in front of the Lincoln Memorial back in 1963.

That was real life.

My silly little dream actually did happen while I was asleep — and I remembered all of it, which is rare.

Anyway, I dreamt that Press Editor Mike Patrick and I were in business together, running a tiny coffee hut.

Weird, yeah, but …

Patrick and I DO have a history of striking out into the world of commerce together. It’s not as crazy as you’d think.

Well, maybe it is.

Several years ago, Mike and I were in Flagstaff. We couldn’t help but notice the outright passion for basketball on the giant Navajo reservation, which was barely a jump shot away from us.

And the “rez” is definitely immense, covering a major chunk of northern Arizona and New Mexico — 27,413 square miles, to be precise.

Yet we saw hundreds, sometimes thousands, of tribal members driving old pickups and junkers to any game at all that involved reservation schools.

And these kids could play. They stacked up state titles in both states, year after year.

So Mike and I had a vision, that we could find a major sponsor and publish a monthly tabloid newspaper called “Navajo Hoops.”

It was a huge success, in terms of acceptance across the Navajo Nation.

However, distribution was impossible — those 27,413 square miles are mostly rutted dirt roads that twist through valleys, over mountains and occasionally head to nowhere.

First I lost the shocks on my old Pontiac, then the chassis itself gave way en route to Shiprock, N.M.

That was it.

A great idea we couldn’t sustain for long.

I HAVE no clue why I would dream about becoming business partners with Patrick once again.

We lost some fillings from our teeth just driving around in an attempt to succeed the first time.

Not to mention …

Kootenai County must lead the world in corner coffee huts, if you figure it per capita.

Still, Mike and I were desperate to be in the latte business, perhaps because the boss is absolutely in love with a place called Roosters on East Spokane Avenue.

He always orders us a “chai something,” which admittedly is fantastic.

Perhaps, in the dream, Mike convinced me that another Roosters — in Post Falls, maybe — would make us a bundle.

The problem, though, was a name for our hut.

We couldn’t steal one from Roosters or anyone else, and I’m sure that most of the dream was about finding a name that we thought was catchy.

And that, my friends, is why I’m telling you this crazy story today.

For all the miniature coffee emporiums in the county, I can only think of ONE that has a neat name — the Human Bean on Neider Avenue between Government Way and North Fourth Street.

Can it be that hard to find a clever name for a coffee place?

Heck, the writers from the TV show “Friends” came up with Central Perk in minutes, if you believe the grocery store mags.

One more thing before I sign off today …

Yes, I know it’s nuts to be dreaming of owning a coffee hut with a boss who wouldn’t be interested.

No wackier, though, than driving around those 27,413 square miles.

Oh, and even worse, I woke up before we thought of a name.

Sheesh!

•••

Steve Cameron is a columnist for The Press.

Email: scameron@cdapress.com.

Twitter: @BrandNewDayCDA