the book of Dreams : sahvoi
The pretty 20-year-old brunette made all the arrangements two days in advance.
Smoothly keying in my specifications into the system an itinerary was ready, less paper to shuffle. 
It was my first out of state in two years. Now I could breathe easy. 

Single serving coffee, one packet sugar, tiny cup cream. Too excited to sleep. 
Departure from terminal Five was seamless. Two days' change of clothing, blue patent shoes and enough cash to float the parade of vintage stores crammed along one side of the Vilhej. I was just another wide-eyed tourist, a mark in all that's free for trade. My best downtown decibel-cracking whistle claims a decent gypsy magically in the hustle and bustle of midmorning, ants marching transit. 

"Up state art school", cigarette dangling from the corner of my mouth. Cabbie gives me a cool 2 seconds, reading my mind he gleans it. Can hardly wait to meet her. 

Some forty minutes later I've had enough time to look for the trinket. Cute furry yellow, Amidala dimples cozy in pre-fab velvet puzzle box, some Ginza Gizmo with its own language. "Slide", it winked at me, unlocking an ancient secret. Flush with the recycled heat, forgot to roll down the window. Was that it? Sahib pulls up in front of a stylized Twenties post-modern and hands me back the plastic. Substantial tip makes for no trouble when one's in foreign territory.

 
March notes:

And did I dream right ? 
As it has already transpired.
I'm still reeling from its wonder (:

99 November 5
(c) copyright owned by Siddharta Somar
| back to dreams | voce | sumatra