Saturday, 16 May 2009

Anyone's dreams are interesting

In my dream I drove a Cadillac. Or more exactly I parked a Cadillac. I felt like it was mine. It's white with entertwined red letters, like a stamp.

A little squirt from the dream's pop-up circus comes by and scratches it. I let him do for I'm not sure the car is mine. He's the son of a dressed-up couple that joins a dalsi party. All the city danced in a huge block with wooden floor covered by sawdust. Drunken girls tried to eat butter toasts yet let them fall. The party was hectic. Lots of sex and betrayals, in the corners bits of rivers.
I ask the squirt why he scratches this car. He writes the answer on a paper and holds it to me.
"00 000. You should have noticed it. It was written on a tram that just left the station. That's a phone number. Not any phone number. That's the tram's phone number. Girlfriend 00 000. By the way I was born in 1993.