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About being in a bomb blast |
I thought I couldn't remember the last dream I ever had, but then we were talking about the car in Glasgow that went up in flames, and I remembered it again; the last dream I had. In it I was walking back down that long wide city street where the women with coconut oiled hair sit painting nails purple and buses roar, in a broken red seam past cheap clothing stores and children, bouncing their reading bags home from school; but this time, the road seemed to be deserted apart from the man struggling with the latch on his briefcase; what is he doing, I wondered, then knew, just before the phoneboxes breathed flames and a strong hot breeze lifted me from my feet and carried me past the suits hung trembling in the dry cleaners and the O shaped mouths of the figures rippling like paper in the current and for a moment, there was only silence apart from the hot wind singing through my ears, but then, came the sound of glass shattering,breaking, around me and I don't know what happened next; maybe my dream took me some place else, maybe, now a part of me will always hang suspended above that long wide city street. |