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boccaderlupoI dreamed it was night, and the New York Metropolitans baseball team were playing a game long into the wee hours. They couldn't get a hit, but neither could the other team, and there was a nervous tension in the park as from a long-delayed storm.
I dreamed I was traveling with my children through the Outer Boroughs. There were fires against the night sky. People paraded like shadows through the streets. At the edge of town there was a checkpoint, like at an airport, where they sift through your bags. It turns out I had long been the Spider-Man, but no one knew, and inside my luggage were the various chemicals used to fabricate my spider webs; I told my kids not to look, because it would surely reveal my secret identity, but they did so anyway, and yet no one said anything.
*
I dreamed again that I was with my kids in an all-night movie theater house. My wife was out with her friend, as indeed she was in the waking world. My kids and I wandered from theater to theater, although out of remorse we would pay for the movies each time. I went to pay for us to see a documentary on the Rolling Stones, some kind of concert footage thing, though I knew my kids would have no interest in it. I paid with a credit card, and the bill was a mind-numbing $179.99. I asked the guy at the counter if this was right, and he dialed it down to $129.99. I shrugged, and signed on the dotted line, and we shuffled off to the theater.
I dreamed I was traveling with my children through the Outer Boroughs. There were fires against the night sky. People paraded like shadows through the streets. At the edge of town there was a checkpoint, like at an airport, where they sift through your bags. It turns out I had long been the Spider-Man, but no one knew, and inside my luggage were the various chemicals used to fabricate my spider webs; I told my kids not to look, because it would surely reveal my secret identity, but they did so anyway, and yet no one said anything.
*
I dreamed again that I was with my kids in an all-night movie theater house. My wife was out with her friend, as indeed she was in the waking world. My kids and I wandered from theater to theater, although out of remorse we would pay for the movies each time. I went to pay for us to see a documentary on the Rolling Stones, some kind of concert footage thing, though I knew my kids would have no interest in it. I paid with a credit card, and the bill was a mind-numbing $179.99. I asked the guy at the counter if this was right, and he dialed it down to $129.99. I shrugged, and signed on the dotted line, and we shuffled off to the theater.
