![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Sunken shop
May. 28th, 2022 11:35 amI dreamed we were in some kind of marijuana-and-esoteric-knickknack store here in town, but our town was much closer to the seashore than it is now. The shop had once been one of those family-style diners (almost like a Cracker Barrel, for those of my U.S. compatriots who know it), grey-brown wood panelling all around, but somehow it had sunk approximately a half-story beneath the ground. You ascended a small porch from the sidewalk and down a narrow stairwell underground, and there where the main dining room area used to be were tables set up erratically with weed and various drug paraphernalia along with incense, statuary, and the like.
Despite my interest in the occult I am not much into that aspect of things, so I left the wife and went back up to the street. The cry of gulls overhead. I was struck with the sudden desire to see if they had any Lares statues down there, so I hurried back inside to one particular table that had various wooden statues. The closest I could find was a very emaciated Jesus with a cross over his head, about the size of an eraser. I picked it up for a moment, but then placed it back on the shelf.
Instead of exiting to the street, we opted to go out the "rear exit," which involved crossing this grotto-like area that had ankle-deep water. On the other side of the water there was a "front of the house" area where an affable white guy in a white shirt, middle aged with slicked black hair, a former airplane pilot, served as host. He greeted folks entering that way, but also compelled you to take off your shoes and place them in a plastic bag, thus forcing people to wade through the water barefoot. We hadn't come in that way, so we both had on our shoes, and I leaped over the water, landing in a bit of it at the far end and getting my sneakers wet. The wife, for her part, stepped gingerly and with dignity across with no problem. We nodded to the pilot and made our way up the cave-like stairs to the back parking lot of the place, which looked out onto a marina and the ocean beyond.
Despite my interest in the occult I am not much into that aspect of things, so I left the wife and went back up to the street. The cry of gulls overhead. I was struck with the sudden desire to see if they had any Lares statues down there, so I hurried back inside to one particular table that had various wooden statues. The closest I could find was a very emaciated Jesus with a cross over his head, about the size of an eraser. I picked it up for a moment, but then placed it back on the shelf.
Instead of exiting to the street, we opted to go out the "rear exit," which involved crossing this grotto-like area that had ankle-deep water. On the other side of the water there was a "front of the house" area where an affable white guy in a white shirt, middle aged with slicked black hair, a former airplane pilot, served as host. He greeted folks entering that way, but also compelled you to take off your shoes and place them in a plastic bag, thus forcing people to wade through the water barefoot. We hadn't come in that way, so we both had on our shoes, and I leaped over the water, landing in a bit of it at the far end and getting my sneakers wet. The wife, for her part, stepped gingerly and with dignity across with no problem. We nodded to the pilot and made our way up the cave-like stairs to the back parking lot of the place, which looked out onto a marina and the ocean beyond.
