Last night, one dream was going on when it was interrupted by a special bulletin. There was a flash of sparkling white light. A swarthy man with coarse features and long, dark air, parted in the middle but tied in a pony tail, called out to me. He seemed like he was in his late thirties. I dimly recognized him. He was wearing jeans and a frayed white shirt.
He said, “Come here. Come on.” He was acting impatient, gesturing with his hands and fingers, while his head was bowed, like he was weary of doing this.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m going to explain this.”
“But you already explained it.”
“I know.” Nodding, he turned away, but waved at me to follow. “I know I explained it but I don’t think you understand, so I’m explaining it again. Come on.”
I begin to follow him; the dream ended.
Michael Seidel, writer 