I lay down at 2PM for a nap -
getting ready to find a movie/job interview/mall – been this way once before, traced the route on a map, a kaleidoscope of a dozen unsure fragments of a dozen road trips, poorly planned or gone wrong, from my early driving history – a left turn across oncoming traffic, can’t see, my seat is facing the wrong way, someone else is driving – "Moshe, get the fuck out of the car!" as I physically drag him from the driver’s seat. And who is that other passenger? A friend from the post-Tracy era, or a current coworker? High speed, beating on the transmission, trying to keep up with the stop-and-go flow of traffic, big trucks bearing down but can’t see through the gray-fogged windshield, is it foggy or is it night? Is this a dream? It better be, out of control and wipe the windshield inside with my flannelled or sweatjacketed sleeve, it doesn’t help for long – I think I’d like to wake up now - a shortcut into an industrial park dead-end, into a warehouse, across the defunct (or are they?) tracks of a historic train station under renovation, have to portage the car over a patch of broken muddy dirt, and out onto a residential strip in Verona? Bloomfield? Staten Island, NY? Whatever, we are on actual legal streets, and the journey can resume, this is the last leg. A psychotic refrain, "the merry-go-round broke down, jee-jing, it’s Dominic the Donkey". Throughout, I have a detached gnawing sense of danger, of being lost and losing face and missing the show/appointment, of not having the money for admission or return tolls.
I wake slowly at 3:30pm, hungry, jittery.