A dream last night in which Mickey Dale and someone else were involved in an old home that was part of a nest of old homes that were being reworked on the side of a hill so there was scaffold and debris and the whole mess could be seen from far away.
Something was happening that I can't quite understand.
That is the way my dreams go: no narrative, just structured scenes
that are juxtaposed together; forcing a story into the cracks between
to make it all seem like it made sense.
The same could be said for existence.
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