Waking Finnegan

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our whole life is rounded with a sleep” ~ Shakespeare

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Location: zurich, Switzerland

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

December 8, 2004

At a seaside port town--unsure where--lights not strong enough to illuminate the streets. I'm negotiating with someone trying to sell me case lots of shirts. Can't understand for what or why. I drop the paperwork the man wants me to sign and run. Distant yells to "Come back--you're in trouble!". I keep running--my heart feels like it's going to pop in my chest. Incredibly tight knot burning and thumping--I feel scared it's a heart-attack; should quit those casual cigarettes and start working out.

I'm somewhere in the same port town (San Pedro?) but can't figure where I parked my car. Which car? I don't drive. But I know I have a car. This isn't Zurich. It's in California somewhere. I see keys dangling in an old pick-up. It's a Ford, but I don't remember buying one. Open door but keys don't fit in the ignition. Ring snaps and keys all fall on the un-carpeted floor board. Cold metal, strange ancient oil stains. Rust. Hit my head on steering column and blood leaks from the back of my head. No pain at all but a large opening. Sticky blood--too sticky for fresh blood. I feel around the opening and there's a piece of metal stuck. I pick at it and finally get a grip and realize it's a key. I pull it out and my stomach is weak--feeling sick and lost. Put the key into the ignition and it starts to crank but doesn't start. Look at the side mirror and a man is walking towards me with a long night-stick like cops have. He's not a cop but a guard. He waves at me in the reflection and as I try to adjust the mirror it falls off and breaks. My head is encrusted in old blood.

Shopping at Von's in LA somewhere near the Coloseum. Near Uncle Mino's old apartment where I stayed with my cousins back in the mid-60's. Woman trainee can't get the register to open. I remember the key and hand it to her--she won't accept it--gets really indignant and starts yelling rapid-fire curses at me. I tell her to shut up but she won't stop. Then she opens it up and says very sweetly: 'Thanks so much for shopping at Von's'. I'm buying a box of Captain Crunch. I notice the illustration is really poorly drawn and think: "I can do much better than that!'


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