New section: Dreams I dream
A new section where I share with you a dream from last night. In this edition, a bull and a guide from the past.
In the dream, I live alone in the top of a large building. It is a skyscraper with floors I never explore, because whenever I am placed in another area of the city, I just happen to appear there.
One of my former co-workers lives across me, the distance between our houses a strange dessert of orange asphalt. The first thing I can see from my window is a bull, a dark bull that paces across his living room and his gated yard. His strong build and sharp horns cut a striking figure in the afternoon light. Every time it looks at me, its stares grow longer and angrier. It hates me. I express my concern to my friend. “I can’t do anything if it decides to attack you," he says, “so take care.” Even as he speaks, the animal prepares to bounce towards my door, which I close in a panic, my breath shortened. I can feel its body slamming against the wood behind me, and as it prepares to strike again, I run out and lay flat in the back seat of a pink Cadillac.
The car begins to move. I see the familiar, tiny ceiling lights of a parking lot, and I straighten up to see who is driving. It’s the bull, and it is going faster and faster. I grab the steering wheel and the car comes to a halt before it crashes.
(Maybe it crashes and I forgot.)
Outside of the car, the afternoon sun has given way to a foggy blue midnight. It seems to be the middle of January. The thin smokes floating around the streets are illuminated by the subtle neon outlines at the front of a supermarket. From its entrance, a figure strolls out with a pair of brown paper bags. I get closer and realise that it is my former boss from three years ago. She walks as she always does, strolling calmly and relaxed across the parking lot. I call out to her and we talk about how things have turned out since the last time we saw each other (which in real life has been around 3 months).
“You know how it is,” she sighs. She is collected and warm in her wisdom, even as she shares it without caring whether you take it or not, “you are somewhere and then you are not. You take things for granted but things will never do that for you. So you gotta let go.”
We talk a bit more, and the last thing I remember is her description of a fancy party some folks are throwing in Copenhagen. “They rented a castle, and decorated every single space in it.” She adjusts the bags in her arms. “There is a man with a thousand tentacles dancing on top of the tallest tower, and all his friends are rich.”