I was there—were you there?

I woke up in a stranger’s grandmother’s closet, She told me: "You are my toilet." I didn't argue; I just sat on the floor, And together we watched the gas fade away. A parade of cucumbers marched down the hall, Carrying a portrait of my university diploma. I shouted to them: "Guys, where are you going?" And they replied: "To Nirvana—but via Rostov." A restaurant opened up on my forehead, Serving soup made from my past grievances. I tried to go in, but they wouldn't let me— They said: "You're too sober for this menu." My cat learned to play the button accordion, But his songs are all about infidelity. I tell him: "Murchik, give it a rest," And he says: "You don't understand a thing about love." A philosopher-cockroach took up residence in the kitchen; He proved to me that time doesn't exist. I agreed with him, and we went out for a drink, But we lost space along the way. I bought myself a hat made of silence, But it pinched me and demanded to be fed. I had to set it free; Now it’s out there somewhere, scaring the crows. My phone joined a monastery; Now it only rings on major holidays. I text it: "Hello? Where are you?" And it replies: "In prayer—don't sin, bro." All in all, things are steady—just like everyone else's— Except people aren't quite in the loop. I sit here, smoking tea and drinking a cigarette, Waiting for my tram to arrive... the one to the Moon.