Dream Journal

30 01 2010

We sat on a bench in some Middle America city on a cold autumn day after the rain. If you mixed Boulder, Colarado with Boston, Massachusetts and threw in a dash of St. Louis for flavor, you would be there. The colors were heavily saturated. A dark grey stone cathedral loomed behind us, its bold decor strangely archaic in the modern city. The square of red brick stretched out in front, approaching a mountain range of glass and steel and concrete buildings. At the intersection of two streets, an arrow pointing straight at us, cars and people jostled for position, each individual oblivious to the other.

I lamented the fact that there were no more street cars, how once upon a time there had been one running through this very square. Its shiny rails followed the old roads, kink for kink. I think someone wrote a play about it once.

Maybe they would spend some of the $8 billion to renew local rail infrastructure.

A man standing in front of us said, “Do you believe in a higher power?”

He wore a brown trenchcoat and a matching wide brimmed hat. His sharp, close cropped white beard enhanced his imposing aura. There was a moment of silence. What do you do when that happens? I guess we were in the mood to humor the man, because someone piped up, “Sure!”

“In my own way,” said someone else.

Dreamlike banter almost passed between my friends and him. I stood from the bench to get away. At that moment, his weathered face cracked into a big grin and he laughed. He pointed over his shoulder to his friend, matching save for no beard and a thick neck. “We were just joking. Out on the town for a little fun.”

“That’s right,” said the other man, smiling broadly. They held note cards in their gloved hands and conversed briefly about who to harass next, and then I woke up.

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