Dream of: 14 September 2004 "Black Cloud"

My wife Carolina (in her late 20s) and I had been unpacking our backpacks in a second-story apartment in New York City. The apartment consisted of two bare rooms (no furniture) with wooden floors. A large window gave unto the street below. I was amazed by the amount of possessions we had been able to carry in, all of which we had stacked all over the floor. I was uncertain how long we would stay here. Originally we had only planned to stay overnight or for a few days; but now I thought we might stay longer. 

I looked out the window to the street and the people walking on the sidewalk below. A thin black cloud hung over a portion of the sidewalk, and as people would walk in that section, their heads would pass briefly through the wispy black cloud -- but they didn't seem to notice. I thought perhaps Carolina and I would walk outside and tour the city. We were tired by our travels, but so much awaited seeing here. 

As I continued watching, I slowly realized I was no longer in the room, but on a bus in front of the building. I was standing in the front of the bus, near the driver, a black woman (probably in her mid 30s). I could look up and see Carolina in the window of our room. I hollered to her, but she couldn't hear me. 

As I looked down a nearby street, I was shocked to see a huge white cloud forming into a funnel, obviously a tornado. Now I was desperate to holler to Carolina and I tried again, but still she didn't hear me. The bus moved forward until I could no longer see Carolina or the tornado. I turned to the driver and asked if she had seen the cloud. She indicated that she had, but she didn't seem concerned. She said she was simply going to drive around the block and she would bring me back.

She steered the bus around a corner where a truck with a trailer was partially blocking the way. A log was lying on the trailer, sticking out over the rear. The driver didn't stop the bus -- instead she plowed the bus into the log, denting the left front fender of the bus. The bus bounced off the log and the driver continued on without even commenting about the obvious damage to the bus. 

The driver and I talked more. I asked if driving a bus in this town was dangerous and she said yes. She said that at one place on her route a black man shot a gun at her every time she passed. He had shot at her over 1,000 times and had hit her several times, although she had never been seriously injured. She spoke harshly of the people in New York City, about how mean and unfriendly they were.

I felt compelled to speak, I told her I had found many friendly people here. I explained that I had come from a small town, and I found the people here even nicer than those in my small town. I said people were basically the same all over, but I found New Yorkers in general friendlier than most. 

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