The other night I had this strange dream (seriously). I was walking beside a river that passed through a city, almost like a canal in Venice. Large groups of punk-looking, teenage boys were having battles on the river in these giant, three-story, fast-moving boats with cannons that shot huge paint pellets. They were sloshing water everywhere with their huge wakes, and I barely escaped being drenched a few times. Eventually one of the boats careened out of control and slammed into the storefront of a Chinese restaurant that arose right from the bank of the river. An old Chinese woman came out and was screaming in Chinese at a young man who lay injured in what used to be the dining room.
I felt this urgent need to get back to my family, but I saw this unmarked, wooden building that looked like an old west saloon up on top of the levy. I recognized it as a sandwich shop, and I really wanted a sandwich, so I climbed the levy and walked in. The place was just an old dusty saloon, empty except for the tall, thin barkeep with the handlebar mustache who stood behind the bar polishing a glass with a dish towel. "Oh, sorry," I said, "I thought this was a sandwich shop." He didn't say anything, he just nodded to the stairs.
So, I climbed the stairs, entered through an arched doorway and found myself in a huge room decorated in an überchic, techno style with mirrors and chrome and long, billowing drapes hung randomly from the ceiling and scattered fountain contraptions that gave the whole place the sound of a babbling brook. In the middle there was a huge bar area, inside which were a dozen or more very, very, very gay men making huge sandwiches. There was a line at one end of the bar that looked like customers waiting for sandwiches, so I got in it. No one was actually serving the customers, though, they were all just chatting and laughing and making gigantic sandwiches. The people in line looked like they had been there for a long time and they were resigned to just waiting.
Then, all the gay sandwich makers disappeared down this spiral staircase in the middle of the bar. After a minute, I asked the lady in front of me, "Are they coming back?" "Yeah, sure," she said, tiredly, "Sometimes they go down there for a little while, and then they come back." 'Well, this is just ridiculous,' I thought, and I turned to go. Suddenly, though, the whole place was full of dance club people, milling around and having a good time. The air was loud with chatter and house music and so packed that I could barely breathe, much less move. I struggled through the crowd, trying to find the exit, but I kept getting pushed around.
Eventually, I decided I needed to call Susan and tell her where I was. When I took my phone from my pocket, though, it was smashed to pieces. There were lots and lots of pieces, enough, from the looks of them, to make several phones or other electronic devices. I was trying to put it back together, but I couldn't find one piece that even looked like it came from a phone at all, except a little button that said "5 jkl".
At the end of the dream I was hiding under a table. I was going to wait until the place closed and all the people went home. There was a fountain falling down from the ceiling onto the glass top of the table, and water was running off onto the floor and into a drain right where I was sitting, so I was getting soaked. Plus, there were two hip-looking couples sitting around the table having drinks, and they kept looking at me like I was a weirdo. I think the guys were working up the courage to confront me.
Then I woke up, and, let me tell you, never was I more glad to do so.
So, what do you think all of that means?
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
