I hadn’t had a vivid dream in a while. This morning I was treated to two. In the first I was in the gym at Lafayette High School, my alma mater, amongst rival groups of angry young men. One held a gun and said the dispute could be settled only one way -- someone had to shoot himself in the neck, not directly but at the side. Sneering, I volunteered. I looked about, making sure no one was in the line of fire, as the bullet would pierce the tissue easily. I don’t recall if I actually went through with it. I’m pretty sure about what triggered the dream. When I heard a general predict there would be a terrorist act on U.S. soil within the next six months, I wondered how I would act if I were in the midst of such a situation. I’ve always feared I’d be a coward. Freud believed dreams are wish fulfillment. I’m sure the events in Missouri were also influential.
In the second dream I was back at my old work place, the commodities trading floor. I realized I’d made an error recording a previous day’s trade, one a bit more complicated than the average transaction. I hurried to my superior, embarrassed and nervous. My last day on the trading floor was in late October of 2007, and I still dream about it occasionally. I know what was at the root of this one. I tried to be objective in my fourth novel, Exchanges, and I've wondered if some of the portrayals angered the people the characters represent. The supervisor in question, a great guy and sensitive soul, has never replied to any of the comments I’ve made on his Facebook posts.
It was that kind of day at the floating book shop. On this morning's walk I came across a box of books. I took five novels in Russian and two Danielle Steel romances. I didn't want to be a hog and take everything. All but one of the Steel's sold. Political Man visited. I almost always let him rant without reply, as our beliefs are diametrically opposed. To my surprise, he is in favor of bombing ISIS in Syria. Are there other extreme leftists who are going this way? I noticed something on the pocket of his T-shirt. I thought it was a bug. It was a pin of a marijuana leaf, purchased in the 60's at a Be-In at Central Park.
It was that kind of day. Shelley, whose actual name I've now discovered is Sheila, talks to me several times a day at my usual nook on Avenue Z as she runs errands. So does her mom, Estelle, who is closing in on 90. Both have made purchases. Somehow I never communicated to Shelley that I was a writer. Today I did and she bought A Hitch in Twilight.
It was that kind of day. Just after two, the home stretch, a gentleman sat beside me on the ledge that surrounds the garden of the apartment building at the corner of E. 13th. He asked if I had anything on mathematics. I recalled a textbook among the massive donation I received about a month ago, and fished it out of the well of the front passenger seat of my car. He passed on it, but a few minutes later Crazy Joe, scourge of talk radio hosts, approached and picked it up. I hadn't seen him since last fall. He bought the math book and seven other works of non-fiction. I would have taken ten bucks. He gave me 25, capping off the FBS' best session ever. It was that kind of day. Thanks, folks.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
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