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Summary
Instead, in that dream world, time flattened and became meaningless. Space warped as the Djinn peeked between the planes of reality. He simultaneously sat on the leather couch in Staten Island and also perched on his director’s chair in the dream, where Nandor scrambled to decorate six dozen cupcakes for baby Colin Robinson’s bake sale. The Djinn still smelled rosewater and cardamom even as he reoriented himself in the present, waking world.
Nandor flips through channels. Guillermo would prefer a Gilmore Girls marathon to whatever this is. The Djinn is entertained.