Dream of: 13 April 2005 "Artist In The Maze"

Carolina (probably in her early 20s) and I were in a large city (perhaps New York City). We were having fun, running through the downtown area along winding narrow labyrinthine streets lined with little exotic shops. Finally we came to an outdoor restaurant and sat down at one of the tree-shaded tables.

We soon discovered that the people sitting at the other tables weren't eating, but playing some kind of word game on little laptop-like computer screens. Carolina picked up one of the little screens and also began playing the game, which involved making four-letter words.

As Carolina sat across from me, a blonde woman (perhaps 30 years old) walked up, sat down on my left, and wrested Carolina's screen from her. I looked indignantly at the woman, who paid me no mind as she began playing the game. She rather intrigued me. She was attractive and was sitting so close to me that she was touching me. If she hadn't been so mean to Carolina, I might have enjoyed spending some time with her.

There seemed to be another section of this establishment where some screens were available and I suggested to Carolina that we move over there. To get to the other section, however, we had to walk along a little rock bridge, only about 10 centimeters wide. As I began crossing the bridge, it seemed that we were already playing the game (which now consisted of five-letter words instead of four letters) and that crossing the bridge was somehow part of the game. I now realized how much more difficult the five-letter words were than the four-letter words, and correspondingly, I realized how difficult walking across this narrow little bridge was.

Instead of walking, I sat down astraddle the bridge, and scooted along. Only now did I realize how high up above the ground I was (perhaps 10 meters high) and only now did I realize that Picasso was far down below, following us under the bridge. I started to become worried that he might get lost.

I was also worried about Carolina, who was scooting along several meters behind me. I told her to be careful. Looking up ahead, I saw that we were coming into some kind of concrete maze, still high above the ground. I didn't see how we were going to climb back down.

Then, abruptly, I noticed a man standing up here and painting pictures on the concrete. He was obviously an artist. He saw my concern and he pointed to a ladder sitting next to him, stretching to the ground. Relieved, I hollered back to Carolina that there was a ladder up here and we would be able to climb back down.

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