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JULY 2006: [ 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 ] There's something so lovable about a BMW, no matter what happens to it, you love it more. Yesterday morning the entire plastic shell on the inside of the driver's seat door broke off, and after a few moments of rough thought, I managed to unplug the two electrical wire bundles still connected to the inner door frame, and remove the shell altogether, which I stashed in the rake closet underneath the stairs next to our front door. There's a white bucket and long-handled brush there as well, which the neighborhood kids use to clean my car from time to time, because I never do it, and I think they like to do that. Now I can show them what an electric window looks like, going up and down, what with all the gears and levers exposed and all. You can see why I like the more-and-more disscavenged car. (Dream) I'm taking an entire family to one end of Fisherman's Wharf, which may not be the end they want, so I take them along to the other end, where we can drop off all their suitcases and bags at the motel I've had in my dreams before, then go back to the other end of the Wharf without the bags, where I can let them off and they can walk back without their bags. Mary, meantime, breaks away from all this and almost runs along the partially submerged pier, showing just an inch of water over the boards, and sits down on a wooden bench around the corner of a beach house. I find her there and without hesitation start kissing her. She kisses me back hard, and with that I begin feeling her breast, which doesn't stop her kissing. I'm wondering how I can be kissing her with her sitting down and me standing up just as maybe her mother comes padding through the shallow pier water. (Fin) |
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Yesterday was a little weird because a part of my mind that seems to be very accurate about certain things was keeping watch over me, showing off from time to time. For instance, just as I was leaving the inner airport taxi holding garage for a second time, after a brief nap, it told me the time was five minutes to eleven, and when I looked at my wristwatch, sure enough, it was exactly 10:55. Then later, on my way home from work, just about to cross the Bay Bridge, I asked it what time is it now? It said 5:28, and when I looked at my wristwatch (the clock in my BMW has long since faded away into a bright amber light, which keeps me from knowing what radio station I'm tuning to, too), it was exactly 5:28. Then it informed me I was going to a movie, pretty much against my wishes, though it insisted in its subtle way by giving me visions of the movie garage where I park in Emeryville, which turned out to be the wrong theater, anyway, so I drove to the other end of the Bay Street Emeryville shopping district, to the other movie house, presumably showing Pirates of the Caribbean, where I lie about my age, saying I'm a senior when I'm not, and had fifteen minutes to spare before seeing Jack Sparrow getting into even more trouble. Then afterwards I went to a restaurant where they take American Express, a few blocks from my house, and watching widescreen silent replays of an all-star baseball game, and the same insane commercials over and over again, in silence, had a cheeseburger with Gruyère cheese, cole slaw, a glass of Australian red wine, strawberry shortcake for dessert and a double latte with whole milk, all without looking at the menu, and at the end, without turning it over, asked my mind what the bill was. It said thirty-two dollars, and when I looked, it said $31.54. Okay, I told it, so what about the tip? |
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