Dream of: 04 November 2007 "Money For Sex"

I was standing on the corner of 8th and Gay Street in Portsmouth, in front of the Gay Street House (a huge two-story house in which I had lived during my high school years and where my father continued to live until 1997). This house didn't seem exactly like the Gay Street House, however, and the city around me seemed much larger than Portsmouth. 

As I looked across 8th Street, I saw Mohl (a Portsmouth resident whom I had known since the 1970s) talking to a woman. He walked up to me and said he wanted to buy a "red" (apparently for the woman) from me. I knew he was referring to a certain kind of drug in the form of a red pill. Although I did indeed have some of these drugs (and I had sold some to friends of mine), I was selective in my selling of the drug and I definitely didn't want to sell any to Mohl. He seemed disappointed when I told him I wasn't going to sell him any and he said he would simply have to tell the woman "no." He returned to her, spoke to her, and they walked away.

After he left, I walked across the street to what looked like a little rest area which might be found at a highway rest stop. I walked up to a little building which was part of the rest area and I looked through the window. A thin fellow inside was handing a little packet of something to another person and I immediately knew the fellow was dealing drugs.

I could also see a couple beds inside as well as other household items sitting all around the room. Although the building was part of the rest area, it had obviously been taken over by a couple families who were squatting inside. Five or six people were sitting huddled together in one corner. I knew other people had previously taken over buildings like this and the police had run them off.

When I walked inside the room, determined to assert my right to be in this public place, the thin fellow selling the drugs slid out a window, and the other people likewise scattered from my presence. I thought about calling 911 on the cell phone which I was holding in my hand, but I decided this was no emergency warranting a 911 call. Nevertheless, I did want to call the police because I thought those people were taking over the place and should be kicked out.

I walked back outside (my pet Dalmatian Picasso was with me) and I headed back across the wide street (six or seven lanes). When I called Picasso to follow, he did so, but he was slow. We stopped, waited for a car to pass, then continued on to the other side.

When I walked back up onto the porch of the Gay Street House, my father was there. He and I sat down and began talking about the problem across the street. I told him I had already called the police and I was going to take care of the problem. He said the same kind of thing had been going on all over the city.

The conversation turned to where I had stayed the previous night -- the Ramada Inn. When he mentioned that the motel must have been expensive, I said, "Mine was $100 last night"

He responded, "Jeez, I hope you got a lot out of it."

I said, "I did. It was pretty good."

He looked at me with a knowing smile, as if he understood that I must have been with a prostitute if I had spent that much money. He was wrong, I didn't know why I had paid so much money for a motel room, but I knew I hadn't been with a prostitute. Nevertheless, I didn't elaborate any more for my father and I let him believe what he wanted.

I did, however, think about Michelle, and how I had lately been paying her a lot of money for sex. I had already told my father about Michelle, so he knew about her. I figured he must now be thinking I was seeing another prostitute. I didn't set him straight, so he didn't know I wasn't seeing anyone else besides Michelle.

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