« Shakman | /words/ | hit and run »

May 13, 2005 11:57 AM

A dream with a green car

It was late-night. After bar-time, summerish. I went to a little shop
that seemed to serve beer at a side bar, but also had a huge bakery
case. Kind of like a Tabac in France. I stood in a long line, as I was
hungry. I tried to ask a question about one of the pastries to the
older woman who ran the shop, but she kept treating me like an idiot. I
couldn't quite get a crumb-cake. She kept telling me that they "come
plain, and you put things on it." I paid her $4, and don't really think
I got any food.

However, the purchase apparently was of a car. A barback backs a big
very dark, repainted green car (maybe a '69 Dodge? a '77 Ford?) into the
establishment, right through the open front door. It was a car that wasn't
supposed to be a convertible, but had been aftermarket-ed. It was a four
door. We looked for the pink slip, but neither of us could find it. He went
behind the counter looking for it, and I drove away (top down, of course!)
happily having spent $2,000 for this awesome junker.

<perspective change>

Suddenly, I can view myself driving the car, as if I were flying above &
behind the car. It snowed madly, but has abated. The roads are slush
and heavy with snow. I appear to be driving through a headless-
horseman style road. The top is still down, and there's almost a foot of
pure white snow covering the car. Somehow, the snow is unmoved. Dirty
snow is kicked from the tires as the car goes on, but the layer covering
the car is fixed.

<perspective change>

The weather is nice again. I come upon a big group of people coming out
of a church. It's really late at night, like 2am, but there are kids
everywhere. It feels like a first-communion or a bat/bar mitzvah or
some such early-teen event. I think everyone is Hispanic, but I'm not
sure. The light is sulphur, orange, with the quiet of night. It feels
like I'm at Grace Cathedral on top of nob hill. I turn my head to
parallel park in the 4 car length spot that I saw behind me, but suddenly
the spot is gone.

As I drove up to the church, I passed a car on a side street. He wanted
to turn on the the main road I was on (California Street?). He was in an
amazing car. A 1956 Silver Porsche 550 spyder (a race car)with black leather
straps on the engine (or was it graphite tack?). This car is not typically seen
on the street, you know, EVER. I gawked while driving, full head & torso spin,
he saw me, smiled broadly, getting my props, and his g/f.. wife? who was
proud with/for him. We shared a surprisingly deep connection in the moment.
My car never stopped moving.