Belated

Last night, while writing this, I had carelessly placed my foot into one of the Sandman's bear-traps and was taken by sleep:

It isn't often that I begin writing a post this late. My wits, what little of them remain after a day's work, have been further diminished by fried cauliflower, cheeseburgers and red wine. The Profuser and I grabbed a quick bite at a new restaurant on Haight Street, before our rendezvous with James. The food was mediocre, but the ambience and service made up for what it lacked. The name of the restaurant was Sparrow, and I was shocked to discover that the bird wasn't listed anywhere on the menu. Not even taxidermied and displayed on the bar for some dramatic flair. What has become of this city? I can't even walk into a restaurant and order the dish the an eatery is named after. Imagine walking into a joint called Burger and being unable to get a hamburger. It's fucking madness I tell you.

I wrote about dreams last night, and I'm moments away from drifting off as I type this, so it only seems appropriate to recount my dream from last night.

I dreamt I had driven someplace I didn't belong. It was a favor for an old friend, residing in the area, who was unable to walk. When I returned to my car, I was met by a gang of youths in their early twenties, dangerously idle, with something to prove. 

They shouted racial epithets and open threats as they menaced around me pacing like roosters with puffed out chests. Approaching the car, I realized the rear tires had been cut flat. I was an invader, having inadvertently committed a violation of domain. I was to be dispensed with, perhaps sharing the same fate as my tires.

One of them I recognized as the cousin of my disabled friend, and when I spoke, I spoke directly at him. "Why? Can't you see how they've won? Engineered fear and an illusioned enemy cause us to divide over meaningless manufactured difference. You didn't need to do this." Some chuckled, another said I was crazy, others remained wooden and impassive as deer. The one I addressed came closer and told me to get in my car and leave. With his back to the others, I saw kindness in his eyes, a subtle remorse. 

As I drove away, my two rear tires flapping and flopping against the asphalt like dying fish, he was somehow sitting beside me in the passenger seat. Like the ashen tip of a lit cigarette, we were slowly consumed by the cool night air and the passing of time. The streetlights pulsed, droning like slow strobes as they past. They became the tired second-hand of our ticking clock. We crept on through the night in a car that moved like a limping dog, trying to find the way home.