Dreams are my unreality

The dog said, “quack.”

“Is your throat sore?” I asked.

“Quack.”

I walked on to the store, which was covered in cheese whiz strings. Bob opened the door and wished me a “guten tag.”

“Hi. I’m not late.”

“Not at all sonny, we’re just stocking the elevator with some new buttons.”

“What flavor are they?”
“I’m not sure. Surely not licorice.”

I went on into the elevator, donned my white overalls and yellow hardhat and set to work on the buttons. Slugs were crawling on the walls, leaving psychedelic goo trails behind.

“Thanks for shining the elevator!”

“Glug,” the slugs replied.