I dream of dada

John writes:

parked in an old station wagon by an airport or mall the station wagon has opaque windows as though covered with paper. someones with me, Alex? outside there keeps being skirmishes, arguments, little fights I wonder if I should intervene until finally someone’s shooting, “don’t kill him – just put his eyes out – c’mon” and finally I climb on top of the station wagon and can only see the guy swinging the hammer and add to the clamor “seriously, don’t kill him, not here, not on the sidewalk, its ok” before its over I’m driving in a van, someone with me, this time its Alex, suddenly he double-takes “oh shit – my rainbow pumps! Continue reading →