I had a dream that I was asked to model at an event.
I maybe could have been molded into model material, say, 22 years ago or so, but in both the conscious and unconsciousness realm I am 38 years old and have aged about ten years in the past five. Dream self is very aware of this, but I jet off to *DREAM LOCATION* with a gorgeous dream friend wearing perfect red lipstick.
Several other stunning women with the same shade of red lipstick deplane at the same time. “Oh, they must be models, too.” They are.
We get to where we’re supposed to check in, and I’m feeling a little itchy. Certainly there was some mistake?
“Ah, yes,” says the woman sitting at the table. “We need YOU to talk on the radio.”
“That makes sense.”
We’re killing some time walking along the river before a concert. A woman shakes up a can of spray paint as we walk by, but I’ve seen a lot of people being sketchy in various ways in this park, so I’m neither moved or surprised.
As we’re walking back toward the concert venue, the can-shaker and a couple of friends are walking in the opposite direction wearing aggressively normal faces—three people trying to act super super normal. I make some small joke about how that’s fine by me, but wait, let’s see what they wrote first.
A new, hastily painted symbol of flag inside a circle is on the sidewalk near a bench.
I furrow my brow slightly, jokes put aside for a moment. “I think that’s antifa.”
“Isn’t that three arrows?”
Suddenly, I’m not sure.
We keep walking.
As the man walks out of the bakery, the lid pops off of his to-go cup of coffee.
He just stands there for a moment. Then: “That’s really hot coffee.”
The young man and women—who look like they could be brother and sister, but have been complaining about someone they work with for 15 minutes—quickly offer napkins. “Here, I’ll get more for you.”
“I usually have my service dog,” the man says, gathering himself. There’s a step down out of this bakery and then a small ramp, I know, having given up trying to get a stroller into the place a few years ago.
He thanks the young people, who chat with him politely for a minute or two.
He goes on his way.