Famed detectives
Mar. 23rd, 2025 02:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
boccaderlupoI dreamed the wife and I were detectives in that city by the sea that I often visit when I am asleep. A few blocks from the ocean there was a building, mixed-use, maybe four stories, that sprawled almost a whole block, bodegas and such on the bottom. We were looking for someone inside, but when the super let us in, the interior was deceptively small, with steep steps leading up a blue, blue staircase that ended in....nothing at the top, no door, nothing but rickety handrails. We walked the halls and staircase again and again, then went outside and scoped the building out. It was impossible. There had to be more to the building that that. People who seemed to be residing there kept entering and exiting, but we were stumped.
Our colleague, a red-headed Mexican fellow with a handlebar mustache (no such person in real life), asked the super where the door was to the rest of the apartments. The super, perhaps thinking this fair-hair fellow was a gringo, pretended not to understand the question, to which our colleague bellowed: DONDE ESTA LA PUERTAAAAA.
Meekly the super showed us a side door that blended into the blue walls of the staircase, and a whole other part of the building opened to us, bustling, bursting with life. We went to a window and watched clouds rolling across the sea in fading orange light.
*
I dreamed the director of my wife's school had been a famous cabaret singer in yer youth. None of us knew this, not even my wife. We went out to breakfast with her and the family in a classic New Jersey diner. People stared at her wherever she went. A young man came over to her with a record, the cover depicting her at the height of her career, some decades prior, and asked her to sign it. She smiled and did so, and we were all taken aback by the sudden realization: this was her. You think you know somebody...
Our colleague, a red-headed Mexican fellow with a handlebar mustache (no such person in real life), asked the super where the door was to the rest of the apartments. The super, perhaps thinking this fair-hair fellow was a gringo, pretended not to understand the question, to which our colleague bellowed: DONDE ESTA LA PUERTAAAAA.
Meekly the super showed us a side door that blended into the blue walls of the staircase, and a whole other part of the building opened to us, bustling, bursting with life. We went to a window and watched clouds rolling across the sea in fading orange light.
*
I dreamed the director of my wife's school had been a famous cabaret singer in yer youth. None of us knew this, not even my wife. We went out to breakfast with her and the family in a classic New Jersey diner. People stared at her wherever she went. A young man came over to her with a record, the cover depicting her at the height of her career, some decades prior, and asked her to sign it. She smiled and did so, and we were all taken aback by the sudden realization: this was her. You think you know somebody...
