dreams of which only fragments
remain to tease me.
In New York with the old gang, circa 1978, on a bus, which somehow involved a note requesting a table and some other output taped to my laptop screen. A road underpass with a Cuban restaurant occupying half the road. Parents were in there somewhere.
Context is the first
to go, followed by looming
landmarks. And then sense.
2 comments:
Doesn't it make you wonder how these brain jumbles come together?
I'm still trying to figure out where the Cuban restaurant came from.
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