Monday, October 13, 2003

The Mindful Thief.

Mmm, hey, I was dozing off at work last night, and I kept having this same little dream. It was kind of like series of a short movies, with a repeating cast of characters, acting out the same scene over and over again. (I think to infinity, but it's so hard to tell in dreams, you know?)

A man was fleeing from the police down the rain-soaked coast of British Columbia in a stolen Lincoln Continental. The moon wrung its heady light onto the windshield and it streamed up the glass in a hundred tiny rivers as the long car sped down the murky highway. All at once, it skidded to a stop beneath a dark canopy of trees, which stood wringing the contents of their luscious leaves upon its steaming hood. The man vaulted from the car, covering his head with his jacket, and squelched through the mud between the clusters of big rigs; he was making his way toward an inviting truck stop in the distance. Once inside, shivering and sodden, the man collected a coffee, black, from the obese waitress and settled into a booth with his back against the wall. Nothing to do but wait, he thought, I just don't feel safe driving in this weather.

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