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Dream Log: February 28, 2001 (idea)
See all of Dream Log: February 28, 2001
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(
idea
)
by
stash
Wed Feb 28 2001 at 21:14:19
Urban Night
It is three a.m. and I am walking a deserted city street in a
resident
ial neighborhood. Though unfamiliar, the place is well-lit; but I start to get a nervous feeling in my
tummy
, like I don't want to be out in the open. I'm not afraid of running into anybody but I want to be in a place where I don't have to watch my back. The nervous feeling rises in me and I quickly leap over the front
hedge
of a house. With my back to the bush I face a
picture window
, through which I can see the dim interior of a living room.
Picture frame
s crowd the
mantle
, their contents dark and featureless. The perspective also affords me a narrow view down a hallway, glowing softly from a socket light. I can just make out a cracked doorway down there, spilling lamplight onto the hardwood floor. I mentally cross my fingers in hopes that the
resident
s don't see me. Moments later, the street is bustling with
dog
-walkers,
jogger
s, and others I can't identify by sound alone. Their streetlight shadows dance crazily on the house in front of me and I imagine that these abrupt
pedestrian
s really are twenty feet tall with crooked legs that double in length with every step. I
wring
my hands and hope no one sees me.
My mother and I walk into an outdoor
cellular phone
shop, on the edge of a
parking lot
by a
green belt
. These are supposed to be the very latest innovations but they are all very large for
cell phone
s. Most are the size of a big
remote control
and some have 17 inch
lcd
screens attached. I pull my own phone out for comparison and find it too is overly large. We leave the store when my mom is given a bag of special
fertilizer
, which just looks like a bag of dead plants to me. We spread it over a dead patch on the green belt, which is now our own lawn.
Dream Log: February 27, 2001
Dream Log: March 1, 2001
Night of the Living Dead
Dream Log: March 8, 2001
Dream Log: January 30, 2001
Life sucks, then you die
Tramp
Grandfather
Sam Raimi
regret
racism