|Sweet Dreams Are Made of This . . .
||[Jul. 26th, 2003|04:38 am]
|[||In the Moment
|||||None. Heidi sleeps quietly.||]|
After the great snugglement that followed the return of my Heidi from a one week camp, I warned her that I had been having great issues with falling asleep . . . I may not stay in her arms. Correct, I was.
The warm snugglies oozed into the dream state. I remember my first moments, which, oddly enough . . . featured me in a long-term relationship with Marilyn Monroe. I took care of her in the hotel apartment. She wore lavish dresses each day, and I remember wearing suits. I would order from room service, and we would watch color television. No real noteworthy discussions can be remembered, but I do remember staring fondly at her stockinged foot.
This led to a night-time walk down 9 mile. It had to be around the approximate time, about maybe 1 hour previous, as there were no cars on the road. One car exited the expressway, and it drove . . . too . . . slow. Sensing something wrong, I began to run. Sure enough, they took notice. A man exited the red, unkempt Camaro as I turned and ran . . . what seemed like relief, I made it to the gas station's interior market hut. Alas, I didn't know what to do, I remember the fear share feeling of Jungian connect with the cashier, forewarning the trouble in close proximity. I slid a panel in a side outcrop of your average stucco-ish plypaper ceiling tiles. I literally found myself in the area above the ceiling, on top of the coolers, between the hard ceiling and the finished stucco-ish tiles.
The two men certainly entered the gas station, a Mobil. They had 9mms, and they demanded cash with pointed threats. One was a white pale cave-looking man, brown hair, scruffyish like mine. The other was a black man of smooth nubian skin with mini-braid-locks above the afro.
I became terribly frightened at the witness of a crime. Knowing they possessed armed weapons, I was not keen on studying their reflection. The black man sensed my terror, and while his gun was stuck literally in the ceiling, pointed at me, he allowed me to also grasp the 9mm, directing it ever-so-slightly in a direction pointing to the side of me.
I chose not to witness the conclusion of the robbery.
I had to pee.
1) I felt for the two armed robbers. Shit, there was hindsight of dream sense of their desperation. They needed to get the hell out of Detroit more than yours truly. I would have flipped them my pocket cash too, for they were going to need all the help they could, and that much more help may come in handy.
2) Could this be the symbol of the still-divided color lines of the metro Detroit area between black and white? I don't truly remember the features of the cashier, yet I probably remember the armed robbers because they were waiving 9mm Lugers.
3) Anyway, sometimes we gotta share.