Two

I’m being chased through my high school, which has suddenly become an airport and then a shopping mall. David Dinkins (he was Mayor of NYC, a decade or so ago) is right beside me. He’s wearing a chef’s hat and holding a ladle in his right hand. I don’t know what’s chasing us, but we keep running. I ask Dinkins if he’s the Cream Of Wheat man. He gives me a stern, disapproving look.

I don’t often remember my dreams. In fact, I think I’ve forgotten a great deal of that one. I gotta start writing them down. Some people feel that dreams are important, that they mean something. I think my dreams are just one more sign that I’m fucking nuts.

It’s only about eleven-thirty. Wednesday. I told them at work that I wasn’t coming in today. While I didn’t anticipate this morning’s violence, I knew I’d be out just about all night. I once went to work the night after a P-Funk concert. Except for the train ride, I’d gotten no sleep and got home in time to shower, get dressed and head to work. I spent the whole day in and out of consciousness. Insane. It was a great show, though. That was more than ten years ago.
Nowadays, if I can’t get at least a few hours sleep, I won’t go to work. That sort of thing doesn’t happen often, though. I’m not outgoing like that.

Reflecting on the incident, it’s probably best that it ended the way it did. Not because I was being a dick. But, because things like that have a tendency to escalate. Especially around here. You call me a name, I kick your ass. I kick your ass, you shoot me. You shoot me, my friends see you hanging out on some corner, drive by, aim at you, but hit four bystanders, including an A student, instead. Weird thing, how geniuses seem so often to lose their lives in shootouts and car accidents. At least in so-called “ghetto” areas. The cycle of violence I just detailed would probably just end in me getting shot. I don’t really know anybody with a private arsenal.

Hempstead doesn’t live up to it’s seedy reputation, if you ask me. I mean, shit happens, but generally, I don’t find it a difficult place to live. Maybe if I had kids, I’d sing a different tune. It’s possible I’ve just been lucky.

I never made it to Rite-Aid. Or Walgreen’s. Those kicks to the tummy ruined my appetite for a while, but I’m hungry now. Close as it is to lunch time, I’ll be eating cereal. Store brand granola. Hmm. Almost out of milk. Not the stuff from cows. I’m lactose intolerant. Never cared for that shit to begin with, unless you count snacks that use milk as an ingredient. I still eat some of those. Chocolate bars, cake, etc. The milk I drink nowadays alternates between soy, rice, and almond. I read somewhere that one can develop an allergy to soy from too much consumption. Don’t know if it’s true, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m running out of soy milk, so I guess almond or rice milk is next on the agenda.


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