It was slightly foggy outside Mateo’s window.

Or maybe, he thought, I’m still waking up and shaking off my drowsiness.

Lately, it had been extremely difficult to distinguish between the real and the imagined.

Deciding clarity on the issue was an unlikely outcome, he turned to pour himself a large cup of coffee in an attempt to heighten his awareness, and turned to the bustling street outside. 

Lights flickered off the window glass as he moved closer.

Deciding it was time to go out for the day, he dressed warmly to brave the fridged air. 

At the local market he reviewed his planned meal for the evening, Corzetti ai pinoli. From his experience at the School of Culinary Arts, he knew there was only one way to make this dish, with fresh basil. He gathered the ingredients and selected a small basil plant. The clay pot felt cold against his hand. As he made his way to the front of the check out line, he handed the basil plant to the employee and suddenly heard the sound of running water. 

Mateo was in his bed, a glass of water in hand, tilted at a ninety-degree angle pouring water on his wood floor. 

He was sleepwalking. Again. The water seeped across the floor and soaked his right sock. With one sock wet, he thought he might as well use the other one to dry the floor since he would have to wash them anyway. 

Problems like this, not wet socks but strange occurrences, had been on repeat for months. Maybe years. He couldn’t really remember. 

Every time he thought he was awake, he was really asleep. Or at least he thought. Things happened in pairs. Days would be totally normal. At least what he thought was the daytime. Nothing unusual would happen. When he went to bed, going to sleep was really just laying down and starting another day. 

He had woken up with a slight headache and a frown creased his forehead as he flipped pancakes platting them methodically. As he turned to place the fresh stack on his kitchen table his jaw dropped open in shock. He discovered that he was at the chopping station at the restaurant where he worked as a sou chef. 

The two were indistinguishable, reality and dreams, so what did it matter? He didn’t live drastically different lives from one to the other anyway.  Shrugging his shoulders he turned to what was now the restaurant kitchen, what did it matter?

At that very moment, ten more orders came through for Corzetti ai pinoli. It looked like he was going to be using a lot of fresh basil tonight.