In the book it is written of triangles and the scent of flowers that fills the sunset street with its humid perfume of the New Orleans’ brothel quarter. There is the sound of Pop’s trumpet playing “Azalea” and three yellow dots and always the sweet wet air around you. It’s hot out and in the far foggy distance, you see a great tower lumbering down the Brooklyn streets towards Bethlehem…
I awoke from a college dream, where I’d somehow missed my last final in English and would maybe not graduate. This because my betther half’s mother was in town causing chaos. But on the good side, she was giving a me a big hug as she left in a car for the airport and I was waking up. Not bloody likely, but ain’t dreams nice?
