January 6th, 2010
First We’ll Take Manhattan
The dream is always the same; there’s some kind of envelope in the room, although it’s never in the same place. There’s a song, and there’s always a woman, and there’s always a man looking at the lines on his palm. Somewhere there’s someone singing, but it’s never loud enough to hear clearly, exactly, and the song might be different. But the dream doesn’t leave, and it’s been recurring for so long now that it’s become a little bit like breathing. Although, to be sure, it’s breathing underwater, because the most interesting things don’t come to the surface. When I’m caught up in trying to recreate these scenes in my head, I don’t have enough time nor sense to remember that the most vivid details on exist in my head.
It’s sometimes a good thing to get away from the heaviest parts, to spend time looking for the world’s best hotels. Manhattan has always been my favorite place to go looking because the younger versions of ourselves are still there somewhere. There are so many places that you can go looking for the things you used to be. I try to not listen to the Chelsea Hotel #2, and am very successful on most mornings, but this one was not one of them.
The dream came back before I even began to make the first Moka of the day. I don’t know if it was the recurring dream recurring again, or the feel of the coffee beans in my hands, but either one will always remind me of that morning in the room. One of us was staring at their hands, and one of us was not. One of us was feeling heavier than the other one, but we both had a sense of something lost, but something found. Loss is usually heavier, unless you find something you don’t really need, then it’s a different story altogether. This was not a different story. It was not raining.
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