Ad seen on the way into work today: "Free at Last Bail Bonds"
It also had a big Christian fish. Because when you're calling a bail bondsman, you want to know he's right with God.
* * *
Plans to write more on this took a hard right turn onto Not Happening Street this week, as work's (again) been pretty exhausting. Four days off imminent, though, so some half-thought-out things will appear in full form.
In the meantime: since the Colorado trip, I've been having very vivid dreams. Not sensical dreams, mind you, but vivid.
A few nights ago, I dreamt that my friend Gretchen (I do not know a Gretchen in real life) was in deep trouble, and kept calling me for assistance, first from Turkey, then from Ukraine. Because God loves a good joke (when he's not bailing out felons, that is), this dream ended when I was awakened by a 3 a.m. phone call -- a friend mistakenly dialing me rather than someone on the Left Coast.
Then last night, this gem.
A group of us -- Fidel, me, and a third friend (someone that doesn't actually exist in waking life, apparently) were at a bar. In Mogadishu, Somalia. It was quite a nice bar, for Mogadishu, except that it had no roof. (this was rather hard to tell, since the walls were about 60 feet high)
The imaginary other friend suggested that if we got bored there, we could go to a bar called "Steve's Breasts" in Little Five Points. (Little Five Points is an Atlanta neighborhood. There is no such bar.)
We hung out, talking to the bartender (an expat woman) and then Ken (a co-worker) walked in. He pointed out that right inside the front door, there was a really nice glassed-in restaurant portion.
Then, we left -- and walked through Mogadishu, which had very run-down Austro-Hungarian architecture.
Most disturbing aspects of the dream: a bar called "Steve's Breasts," and that I'm such an Eastern Europe weirdo that I imagine Mogadishu with Habsburg architecture, despite all evidence that the reality is somewhat different.