Posted by: normanlgreen | November 2, 2012

Dream, November 2, 2012 unpleasant passengers

Dream, home, 5:12am

Killing time in a guitar shop. Nice selection. I take a blond martin from a spinner rack. The instrument in unusually light. I strike a chord. Its sound has amazing presence and top end – bright, almost as if compressed and amplified, the guitar is unplugged. The clerk gives me a smile across the showroom floor. I try to hang up the instrument as I had found it, but cannot get the fork to hang onto the headstock.

Pulling into a driveway of a country residence. I am to meet someone at a barn at the end of the unpaved drive. As I pass the house, the road curves – only wide enough for a single car. I nearly clip the brick front porch. I think that backing-out will be tricky.

After my appointment fails to show, I back out. Again passing the house, this time I note there is a yard sale going on. I fail to give myself enough room a I pass the curve by the porch. A faint scratching sound that does not last too long. I pause at the entrance to the road. Two young women who had been looking at items at the yard sale, open the doors of my car as I am stopped to check for traffic. One climbs in the front – she is sullen and snooty. The other climbs into the back – she is a quiet without giving me a bad feeling. I ask which way they would have me take them. The woman in the front seat gives me a disdainful glance then looks out the open passenger window.

I decide to turn the direction she is looking. I drive a ways down the road when they ask me in anger “Where are you taking us?” I tell them they wouldn’t give me a clue so I took my best shot.

I pull off the four-lane highway and run on a parallel dirt track cut into the edge of a young corn field – bright green blades on either side. I pull to a stop. All three of us get out of the car in anger. The women are draped in blankets they bought at the yard sale. I ask the less bothersome of the pair if she has a better sense of direction than her friend. She claims that she does.

We climb back into the car, with the second woman riding shotgun. We drive back in the direction from which we came – the sun directly overhead, the sky painfully blue. A farming community shows up the road – one grain elevator across the way.


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