Which Is Where We Are Now

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.

A small country ships the bulk of their export in one day to the US.

I’m stuck in prison. My country uses all their coniving to launch military resistance to get me out, sacrificing a whole years worth of export plus relations to the US for me.