Dream of:
19 January 1996 "Glass Of Bourbon"I was with my father in the living room of the Gay Street House. Sitting in the middle of the room was a white refrigerator. A dark, ugly, misshapen cat limped around from behind the refrigerator. My father said he intended to dispose of the cat.
I told my father that I needed to go to New Boston; I thought he might offer me a ride, but he didn't, so I left the House on foot. It was cold outside and snow was on the ground. I might be able to catch a bus; when I saw some people standing at a bus stand, I asked them if they were waiting for a regular bus or a school bus. Disappointed when they told me they were waiting for a school bus, I moved on.
As I walked, I kept looking for a bus to come, and finally I saw one approaching about a block away. But looking around, I didn't see a bus stop anywhere near me. Finally, I spotted a bus stop up ahead and I ran toward it. But when I had almost reached the bus stop, I looked back and saw that the bus had turned off on another street. Once again I trudged along through the snow.
I continued walking without problems until I reached the east end of Portsmouth – a small commercial strip of old red-brick buildings. Here I ran into a problem: I found that the street had been blocked off. It looked as if the old brick buildings had all been abandoned and were going to be torn down so that a new road could pass through. Apparently the street had been blocked off so the demolition could take place.
Undeterred, I slipped through the strands of barbed wire blocking my path. A poor-looking woman and a young boy came along behind me; I tried to show them the way through the wire. But when they didn't listen to me, I walked on, leaving them behind.
As I now looked around me, I was startled by what I saw. I couldn't remember having ever seen such a dilapidated area, like one of the worst slums imaginable. Although I thought all the buildings were slated for demolition, I was surprised to see that a few slummy bars were still open. But I was more surprised to find someone I knew here.
A man (probably only about 40 years old, but who looked about 60) walked up to me. I immediately recognized him as someone I had known many years before, when I used to live in Portsmouth, probably someone from high school. He was wearing a long ragged trench coat and looked as if he were living on the street. He was haggard and gaunt, and looked as if he were subsisting on alcohol. Yet he was still very much alive. When he recognized me, he didn't hesitate to walk up to me and ask me if I would buy him a glass of bourbon.
I was a bit taken aback by this specter, but I didn't mind the idea of buying him a glass of bourbon. In fact, I thought I would like to have a glass of bourbon myself, to sit down and talk with him, and to learn how he had come to this state of affairs. However, for some reason, there seemed to be something blocking us so that we couldn't actually come together right here where we were. I told him to go around the corner to Gallia Street, and I would go around the other way and meet him there.
We parted and both headed off in our respective directions. Again I looked at the ravaged street around me. I was now surprised to find a sleek, fancy sports car sitting along the side of the curb. It was green and had white neon lights up and down its length on both sides. The lights would flash on and off, in contrasting elegance to the shambles surrounding it. I thought it must belong to a drug dealer.
I hurried into a bar, thinking I could pass through the bar and come out on Gallia Street. But I quickly became confused inside the bar and I couldn't find the short-cut for which I was looking. I had to retrace my steps and exit through the same door I had come in.
I hurried back down the street, once again passing the green car. Now I could see someone sitting inside behind the driver's wheel – a black-haired man, obviously oriental (about 20 years old). He was talking on a cellular phone. I hurried past, anxious to get to the fellow I had told to meet me.
