sharing bread with a family in a neighborhood
loaves of sourdough distributed
to 5 us. We each get our own. It’s too much.
Everyone eats. We are in a forest near the house I grew up
it’s fall (or autumn, if you wanna get technical),
the family and I go to this performance space
like ampitheatre but more aisles in the wings to work with.
lots of others
working hard. knowing their bits to do.
Proud of whatever they are creating.
Instant feeling of ‘aw what the hell, Casey, pitter patter-let’s get at ‘er.’ Unprepared; no clue what the project is.
hey I know this word! Only recently found out about it
so naturally, I start grinning and looking around to see this lucky flaneur.
after too long, I look back at the fellow who called for the flaneur.
Trying to see if his eyes point it out
and of course he’s staring at me, like I’m a complete idiot. Seen me looking all around at hearing my own moniker.
he’s got a blonde headed little girl standing on his left foot
pulling at his arms
talking at him (and possibly the Universe?) a mile a minute.
the guy looks like a preppy quarterback I knew from childhood maybe
15ft away an attractive blonde is wicked angry at waiting for him to finish his business.
she looks tired and like she has more obligations than are necessary.
the guy mid-thirties is quite good at pretending he doesn’t notice it and isn’t annoyed.
I consider asking if he has considered being a broker
However, I start to get impatient,
is dude gonna say something of relevance?
oh wait I’m the flaneur-need to settle down and meander.
Chill Casey. Figure out how this situation came to be about itself.
(me) yeah, guy, I forgot.
(guy) we know
(me) that I was flaneur, that is
(guy) we know
(me) boundary shifts…
(guy) ok are you done talking yet?
he doesn’t look impressed
I could give an eff. he’s got two gals that are trying to impress him
and he yelled for me says nothing
so go be impressed over there and I’ll do me
unless, you have something to say
effing men, sometimes.
but I’ve only spoken about myself and made assessments.
(guy) take that girl. Keep her busy. Show her whatever the eff it is you do. She’ll sleep at 8. her house. She can show you.
Another blonde girl, one i’d not noticed, is walking over
fit in suggestive, too-tight clothes.
strutting: if it can be called that
just painful to see
you wanna give her a hug after you slap her.
I fill with dread at spending one sec with this girl
that’s unfair-she’s a kid
but, man, I realize im a bit tired
and the psychic prep to not allow this ‘un to zap me is gonna take effort
the psychic vampiricism is strong with this one.
Make her smile.
Do you think flaneur is related to the word flapper? (nonsense-worse yet, completely unfunny <if only someone had fallen down>).
The fuck? she says
(dream fades from memory)
at her house. Very messy, untidy but not yet dirty.
She lives with other kids is my guess.
The house is ranch style rambler. dark colors
the roof in disrepair. trees have fallen into it, now acting as roof themselves.
She gets on her pallate. comforters, sheets, sleeping bags
all the rooms are set up with these beds
it’s is clearly a home where a family lives.
no simple flop
a pallate has been made for me
before I even enter the room.
there is water in the room.
the pallates are wet from accumulating rain water on hard wood floors that curve from warp.
she doesn’t say anything.
just gets under her blankets with her back to me
she’s putting out content even happy vibes. I can tell this is the highlight of her day.
I cry and feel bad for crying. do it quiet like
I’m chilly and wet. it reminds me of sailing
I sleep for 3 hrs
listen to see if anyone’s up
I sleep 2 more hours
I sleep 2 more hours
the house is full of people
moving the family out of the house