I have a strange envisaged dream, it’s in the smallest of suitcases at the height of excitement. The world a tantalizing matter of hours away, the hotel rooms filling and fast, the mad dash for a taxi cab at some ghastly hour when every thought of home is put aside for the trip and the thrill of arrival.
In those late sleepy times I see myself clutching a whiskey or similar night time beverage, the warmth from the aroma of it fills my nostrils and calms me more than the mini sized comforts of a hotel room ever could.
This is truly free time. quiet ‘free time’ for a few hours at least the quits it’s onslaught of ideas on how to kill time, stops, and pulls the trigger. Here the electronic ring before the casing echoes off the floor, there is a moment of serenity.
Another 5 hours and $25 dollars pass and in the dream I’m heading toward a side of the world I have only seen through slighted memorabilia and misunderstood charms. So I want the truth, seems a natural cliché a writer capturing the details of a culture so other that it is a fantasy to which the other them-self is deluded.
But details are the devils work, no in this echoing free time I capture the unseen vibe and fumbling of people within their skin; Cool cats, too nimble for the eyes of normal.
While tired eyes mingle with the next dream, I sit drinking from the glass till either chapter or the booze finishes me off for the night.