iL_weReo
2012-08-02 08:34:12 UTC
I've just had another couple of these "abnormal dreams" of mine and
I'd like to tell you about them before I forget. One was about little
Billy but I'll get back to that one.
It starts out by me finding myself in a big building on West 89th
street where the ceramic elevatiors are awl discolored and slow and
busted az up with scratchitti and awl this junk. But they are very
large elevators. Turns out the address is similar to my current
address so I'm just a borough off.
I'm travelling in the elevator with the well-dressed mayor of the
town. I tell him I'm the biggest movie star in the world and I make
three million dollars a day. He tells he he's awlso the biggest movie
star in the world and seems unimpressed.
So I take him in the front seat of the Checker cab with me (yes I'm
cab driver now) and he sits next to me in the front seat and there's
another fellow awlso in the front seat by the passenger door. Now here
comes the good part; we're driving uptown on Central Park West to get
back to the Bronx and this is the worst fucking road I have EVER
driven on. I mean it. There's construction every fucking inch of the
way, orange and white stanchions, criss-crossing, men with jackhammers
and what-not and dead ends.
It's at one of these dead ends that I actually hit a couple of twelve
year old boys pretty hard with the cab. One of them is a black-haired
Sino Asian and the other is a blond haired American boy. Both of them
have no shirts on. I hit them pretty hard with the cab but not that
hard. But hard. At first they seem ok but suddenly the boy on the
left. the Sino starts favoring his thumb like I hurt his thumb. I
crane out of the cab and ask him if he's "acting." Of course he is;
he's a little faker. Then the two boys take off on CPW and I take off
too, knowing full well I can certainly lose my cab license because I
am going to leave the scene of this accident in broad daylight in
front of many witnesses (including the mayor and his guest and awl the
consturtion workers) without reporting it to the police. So
nonetheless I take off from the scene.
Then I arrive home to where I am now and revel in the fact that
awlthough this neighborhood isn't as great as the one down on the west
side of Manhattan at least it has better elevators.
So before this dream I had a dream about little Billy and Alison. I
dreamed I located little Billy once again and immediately reported
back to Alison. He was a star in some Broadway hit, so I went to see
him. When I got there it turns out it wasn't little Billy at all. This
boy was not pretty to be Billy. I mean he was ok, but certainly not
little Billy. I got the name of the show too, but it's too fuzzy in
the dream to recawl at the moment. There were a couple of these faux
little Billy. Pretty but no Billy. Alison was very disappointed.
Do you see the glory of these "abnormal dreams" now? I mean this is
like LSD without the LSD. Untill tomorrow night-thank god for cancer,
man!
I'd like to tell you about them before I forget. One was about little
Billy but I'll get back to that one.
It starts out by me finding myself in a big building on West 89th
street where the ceramic elevatiors are awl discolored and slow and
busted az up with scratchitti and awl this junk. But they are very
large elevators. Turns out the address is similar to my current
address so I'm just a borough off.
I'm travelling in the elevator with the well-dressed mayor of the
town. I tell him I'm the biggest movie star in the world and I make
three million dollars a day. He tells he he's awlso the biggest movie
star in the world and seems unimpressed.
So I take him in the front seat of the Checker cab with me (yes I'm
cab driver now) and he sits next to me in the front seat and there's
another fellow awlso in the front seat by the passenger door. Now here
comes the good part; we're driving uptown on Central Park West to get
back to the Bronx and this is the worst fucking road I have EVER
driven on. I mean it. There's construction every fucking inch of the
way, orange and white stanchions, criss-crossing, men with jackhammers
and what-not and dead ends.
It's at one of these dead ends that I actually hit a couple of twelve
year old boys pretty hard with the cab. One of them is a black-haired
Sino Asian and the other is a blond haired American boy. Both of them
have no shirts on. I hit them pretty hard with the cab but not that
hard. But hard. At first they seem ok but suddenly the boy on the
left. the Sino starts favoring his thumb like I hurt his thumb. I
crane out of the cab and ask him if he's "acting." Of course he is;
he's a little faker. Then the two boys take off on CPW and I take off
too, knowing full well I can certainly lose my cab license because I
am going to leave the scene of this accident in broad daylight in
front of many witnesses (including the mayor and his guest and awl the
consturtion workers) without reporting it to the police. So
nonetheless I take off from the scene.
Then I arrive home to where I am now and revel in the fact that
awlthough this neighborhood isn't as great as the one down on the west
side of Manhattan at least it has better elevators.
So before this dream I had a dream about little Billy and Alison. I
dreamed I located little Billy once again and immediately reported
back to Alison. He was a star in some Broadway hit, so I went to see
him. When I got there it turns out it wasn't little Billy at all. This
boy was not pretty to be Billy. I mean he was ok, but certainly not
little Billy. I got the name of the show too, but it's too fuzzy in
the dream to recawl at the moment. There were a couple of these faux
little Billy. Pretty but no Billy. Alison was very disappointed.
Do you see the glory of these "abnormal dreams" now? I mean this is
like LSD without the LSD. Untill tomorrow night-thank god for cancer,
man!