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I dreamed I was with my boss in some backroom of a supermarket. We we working with many papers on folding tables. There was an older lady, bespectacled and rather feeble, in the room, but she escaped into the main part of the supermarket. My boss hollered: After her! We gave chased. The supermarket was mostly giant refrigerator compartments like you see in the ice ream aisles, with wood-paneling on top and in between the doors. The old lady was quicker than she looked. We caught up to her and I got her into a cradle, and began carrying her that way back to the room. She said: That's fine, this is what I had hoped for.
*
I dreamed my wife, son, and I went to a large bookstore located in a grimy warehouse on Lexington Avenue in Clifton. The exterior was all run down. Inside it was dark; lots of what looked to be boxes for comic books. Inside, on the right, however, there seemed to be a counter where you had all sorts of Italian cheese and deli meats. I told my wife and son that I'd be over here; the went to the left to look at books.
The crowd around the counter was substantial. I waded through it and brought up a piece of cheese to the cashier, who looked a bit like actor Joe Pantoliano. I said: E un po' strano trovare cibo cosi dentro na libreria, ma va bene. The cashier had a blank look, and took my money, and said simply, in English: Thank you. It was kind of cold.
I joined up with the others in the bookstore. My son had found some kind of comic book; on the cover was a pair of female ninjas who were stabbing each other with swords. I told him it was too violent for him, and we put it back on the shelf and left.
Outside, as we were leaving, I looked at the exterior of the building and saw, beneath the sign for the bookstore, a small sign indicating that there was a salumeria there, also. The cashier came outside and was sweeping the steps. I apologized to him for not having seen the sign and just presuming his store was a part of the bookstore. He seemed confused, but smiled and waved, at least, and we left.
*
I dreamed I was walking north on the Garden State Parkway, miles and miles in the shoulder. I was carrying a homemade leather punching bag my father had made for my brother and I when we were young. It was a long slog. I finally arrived at the exit for Route 4, where there was a kind of oasis on the side of the offramp: benches and palm trees where you could recline in the shade. I put down the punching bag and called my wife and daughter, and told them to walk up and meet me here; I was on my way to Hackensack, it would only take an hour or so. My wife demurred, and I lifted the bag back up on to my shoulder and started heading back south, heading home.
*
I dreamed my wife, son, and I went to a large bookstore located in a grimy warehouse on Lexington Avenue in Clifton. The exterior was all run down. Inside it was dark; lots of what looked to be boxes for comic books. Inside, on the right, however, there seemed to be a counter where you had all sorts of Italian cheese and deli meats. I told my wife and son that I'd be over here; the went to the left to look at books.
The crowd around the counter was substantial. I waded through it and brought up a piece of cheese to the cashier, who looked a bit like actor Joe Pantoliano. I said: E un po' strano trovare cibo cosi dentro na libreria, ma va bene. The cashier had a blank look, and took my money, and said simply, in English: Thank you. It was kind of cold.
I joined up with the others in the bookstore. My son had found some kind of comic book; on the cover was a pair of female ninjas who were stabbing each other with swords. I told him it was too violent for him, and we put it back on the shelf and left.
Outside, as we were leaving, I looked at the exterior of the building and saw, beneath the sign for the bookstore, a small sign indicating that there was a salumeria there, also. The cashier came outside and was sweeping the steps. I apologized to him for not having seen the sign and just presuming his store was a part of the bookstore. He seemed confused, but smiled and waved, at least, and we left.
*
I dreamed I was walking north on the Garden State Parkway, miles and miles in the shoulder. I was carrying a homemade leather punching bag my father had made for my brother and I when we were young. It was a long slog. I finally arrived at the exit for Route 4, where there was a kind of oasis on the side of the offramp: benches and palm trees where you could recline in the shade. I put down the punching bag and called my wife and daughter, and told them to walk up and meet me here; I was on my way to Hackensack, it would only take an hour or so. My wife demurred, and I lifted the bag back up on to my shoulder and started heading back south, heading home.
