Month: August 2011

I’m in a bookshop. It’s university bookshop. It has an indie vibe. I spend a lot of time at the register reading a book and watching a movie. The clerk checks to make sure I’m doing something. When he realizes I am, its OK with him.

They also have a blue coat just like the one I used to have. This kind fit so nice; I like them; I plan to get one. There is another more expensive coat that doesn’t fit. Good thing I don’t have to feel obligated to wear that these days or have a job that would think better of those coats. I can give it to goodwill now.

I buy my books; one of them is a big book. I walk out of the train station. I’m on a train trip of sorts. It’s evening. I walk over bridges. The station is right next a large body of water or a big river. Up ahead the current of one of the tributaries is rapid. I’m really happy about it and looking forward to crossing the bridge that passes over it. I’m fascinated by the play of the water.

I’m not sure if have my books. I check my backpack, which is light. The book is there. Oh, I forgot the coat. I’ll have to go back. I go back to the train station’s shop (which is different from the university book shop). I meet an Asian woman, a classmate. She has been diagnosed with cancer. We talk.

The upside about the cancer is that she gets to meet interesting people like me. I have to go to the bathroom. I pee in the corner under the shower. It seems like the drain pipe was meant for such use. Oh, there is a urinal. The woman has gone into the woman’s bathroom. She taking a shower. She says “touch me”. Could she be saying that to me?

The clerk steps out from a back room. He turns on the shower to wash his feet and leaves.

I’m taken to high school.

I sit inside the office with 2 young psychologists. It’s some kind of job interview or student-to-teacher get together. They don’t know how old I am. We get into the psychology of life. They’ve written a book: Psychology for Dummies. I point them out. They correct me: they are actually the 2 teenagers looking at the two hipsters that wrote the book and are pictured — a curly haired man and a Frenchman.

I show them my shoes. They fall over themselves when I tell them they are Fluevogs. They don’t know how they’d do it, they say. I say one just has to be brave enough to go online and order them.

At one point I take issue with their theory. I stand up.

We move outside the pool. The principal, a black woman, joins us. She flirts with all of us softly. By the end she tells us she’s hot. I wonder should I go down under the table and service her, but that would be too wonderful and embarrassing. She takes a fire extinguisher and sprays it up her skirt.

A posh lobster bisque dance troupe prepares a meal for a large group of people. The setting is in my parents’ basement.

As we partake in the meal, we discover a person buried in floor, the concrete of the floor. After a while, after some investigation and excavation, we discover a whole floor of people buried.

I was once buried there and escaped. One lady that is discovered was the original lady buried there. She had a brood of children; of course, they had been buried, too.

I’m your typical white suburbanite in poor minority, I suppose Hispanic, Spanish-speaking territory. I’m at a nice lake in an idyll land far from the suburban streets. I bungle around with my possessions before getting into the water.

Then, its time for children to go home. There is a PBS/hippie peace core vibe among the adults minding the children. I can tell they have fun and are fulfilled, engaged with their lives; it must feel like an adventure to them. They are filming for a documentary for funds. The bus begins to cross a very wide river — there is no bridge. The bus has no roof. They were planning on the river only so deep, I suppose a foot deep, but they hit a deep spot and lost a bus to the river.

Go to a strip mall to buy a game for Brian.

I arrive at the parking lot and turn off engine; but, I haven’t parked; I continue rolling. I miss a nearby parking space and have to circumnavigate and arrive somewhat close to the shop without having to restart car; still, its further away than where I could have parked the first pass. A couple of foreign men sitting in their car see me pass by; they sneer at me in disapproval.

This turns into a mini-story of the young cameraman doing filming in the shop. I think the filming is of an interview with a respected, wise, semi-famous man. The cameraman is going to school part time. Though he is a low camera man, he shifts into his later, respected, wise, famous self and is seen interviewed in the shop. When he leaves he is the young self just beginning his real career which he likes.

I leave the store and the parking lot. I miss a turn and continue straight. The street going down. I go down. There are no more intersections.

I’m driving down … far down down down. It’s unbelievable how far down and step this road is; it just keeping going.

At first I cruise until I go dangerously fast, then I begin to brake.

My eyes track the road road where it the levels off and starts to go up, but I find it hard to go straight like this. It’s safer and better for my eyes to track just what’s in front of me.

Finally the road levels off an goes up and up and up. I miss another turn off. Then I see the road beyond doing screwy loops. “Surely,” I think, “that would be disastrous. I wouldn’t be able to have enough speed to stay on though those loops.” I do a quick turn in the middle of the road and am finally on my way home.