has been sprinkling my eyes with crack rock
I am driving Winston, the Toyota Previa I traded in last July. I park him behind Buzz, in the same place I always parked him when I lived in Cincinnati. In my dream I do not live there anymore. I've driven to Cinci from Nashville just to see the looks on people's faces when I come in. I feel quite mischievous.
I walk around the block and into Buzz. The stairs have been removed and the counter has been lengthened. The inside resembles Cafe Coco. I am amused at Buzz's attempts to yuppify. Buzz got bricks through the windows when the Cinci riots raged. Buzz will never be upscale.
Jon and Dreamy Steven are still working the counter. I feel good about this.
I order coffee and forget about their 'fill your own damn cup' policy. But I do not feel stupid for forgetting this. And I do not put anything in the tip jar.
I stand outside on the sidewalk, drinking my coffee and watching people. I see familiar faces. I do not greet them. I left them behind for a reason. The only person I talk to is Matt Macy. I am very glad to see him.
I look around and gape at the things that have happened to the area surrounding Buzz. Martin Luther King Boulevard has been turned into some kind of porn amusement park. Skinny, spacklefaced bottled blondes stand at the entrance, feigning interest in each other and the park guests. I think that they might be attractive if they were old enough to have some womanly hips. Across the street, The UC campus is full of brothels and smuthouses. There is a sign saying that You Must Be 21 to Enter This Street. This makes perfect sense to me. I stand there wondering if I could walk around in there without being asked for proof of age, but I don't bother trying.
A woman comes up and taps me on the shoulder. It is Scottie Semler, who I knew from band in high school. She was such a girlygirl, but now she's a bull dyke. She tells me that she has something very important to tell me inside. I go back into the cafe and ask her what she wants. She tells me that Angie Strebel is there, and she is looking for me. My blood gets cold and my belly drops. I buy another cup of coffee, trying not to panic. Angie comes in the door, looking even more cracked out than she used to.
I nonchalantly walk out the door, ignoring her, and start walking quickly to my car. She follows. My pace picks up. So does hers. I begin to run, knowing all the while that if I run, she will too. And then she will catch me. Running is a mistake. But I am scared.
She does catch me, and punches me hard in the face. I yank my body out of her grasp and keep running. I lock myself into Winston, panting, and stare into her bony little pig face smooshed against the window.
I wake up.