January 7, 2019

Vivid dreams. In the last before waking, I was some sort of prophet or reformer, speaking to large crowds at bus plazas and public squares. It felt good doing this. My special emphasis was to remain friends with the people who advocated the positions I’d just excoriated in public. Bonnie Hobbs, who used to run the green door, was one of my targets during a big harangue on the public square. Afterwards, I and my followers went to a play she was producing. The dream ended before I knew whether she was going to let us in.  The city we were in was beautiful, a white city with broad vistas.

Had the whole Phil Mechanic building to myself for a couple of hours. This was after a first arrival when, again, I encountered a refugee stumbling away from the bus stop. He asked me where a certain employment service was, and I didn’t know. He gave me the address, and it is on Leicester Highway. He wanted to know if he could walk and I said it was, like, six miles, and so I cleaned out the front seat so I could drive him there. He was a (quite large) black man with a French accent, so I guessed the Caribbean, but he is from Benin. Somehow he is staying in Marshall, which I would have thought was the last place anyone from Benin would have found his way to. Something on the radio brought up politics, and he said the President of Benin, Patrice Talon, is a “very strong man” whom everybody is tired of after five years. He allowed, though, that in that regard America has it worse.