Chasing heroin with AG in a cheap hotel. The hotel is so cheap that it is constructed from ply board. Half of the details (for instance, windows, doors, etc) are painted on – rather like a set on an old western.
HJ arrives. We three are sat in the doorway, the cowboy desert stretches into the distance. AG wanders off on all fours imitating a gorilla. HJ follows suit, thumping his chest.
Drugs are rubbish. I go back inside and rifle the foil scraps for hidden money. Nothing.
The dream is illuminated by ‘cheap lighter strike’ flashes.
Carshalton in the 1960s still looks and feels as I imagine it did in the ’30s and ’40s; affluent, English, sedate, exquisitely lit by late summer sun, etc. Unseen birds sing in the pines.
BMcV is driving a small car – it is a Fiat 500 (which, in itself is funny). It is, perhaps, stolen: let’s hope so. He drives it fast. He drives it recklessly.
The car is packed … BMcV, PM, CP, JC, GT & me. We are careened left and right, left and right. A police car gives chase, sirens wailing!
BMcV stops at Pine Walk and we all get out into morning sunlight and wait for the police. JC disappears but I find a letter from her in my pocket – Her childlike handwriting informs me that she has returned again to Liverpool (although I know at once that this is a mistake and she means Manchester). She includes a list of gig tickets, train tickets, etc.
Before the police arrive I decide to walk away. I am walking in Roman sandals.
After a long march I reach Carshalton high street. It is now the twenty-first century. As I am stood at a dry stone wall trying to figure out how to tie the laces on these sandals I see NB, AF, MT, KB and TK in the garden of a pub. They are singing songs from the 1940s. I must tie these laces before going to see them.
A scrawny black and ginger cat is discovered living in an unused room in a large, rambling house. I can feel its spine beneath its fur.
© dream diaries / Vol 1.
1-100 nick reeves 2020