Tuesday, June 5, 2012
I sometimes have the strangest dreams, often in color (which some say is impossible), and I often remember at least portions of these nocturnal visits. Last night I appear to have been some sort of mafia hitman, or maybe just a member (I don't remember which), who is supposed to meet someone at a small hotel bar. I was given instructions, "you know the one, the yellow one, in the middle of the block", but I spent almost all of my time weaving in and out of 1950s-era bars (although they could have been twenties speakeasies as well) and streets on a rainy night with neon lights reflecting from puddles. I know I was wearing a dapper tan suit and hat, and I didn't feel as if I shouldn't be in some of these nice places. Oddly, I don't remember flirting with any women, no naughty hatchecks or cigarette ladies, and there were no macho events, no shootouts or such. I don't recall even packing heat. Just wandering around in this city looking for the meeting place. It could even have been some time after WWII, cause I seem to remember uniforms, and in one drinking establishment I recognized some minor actors sitting along a lengthy bar, smoking, the cigarettes in holders with smoke trails curling up, but the men got up and stepped to the side of the room when I walked in. Not intimidated, as such, but they clearly knew me or who I was, were wary of me, and their reaction indicates I was someone either to be feared or respected, but they didn't go running off, so I wasn't that much of a threat. Hey, perhaps I was a detective, though if so I should have been carrying a guna nd been more aggressive, wouldn't ya think? I didn't drink or smoke (which I don't do in real life, with the exception of an occasional drink). And I never really became anxious that I couldn't find the appointed bar, just bemused that I couldn't remember its location, though toward the end, just before I woke up, I saw a smaller yellow hotel and was walking toward it. Interpret that, Freud!