bakery
I walk into what I think is a pub. But it does not look like a pub. There are no beer taps, there is no alcohol. The building is a long thin one, quite old. There are racks and ovens, it looks like a bakery. There is a counter made of wood that has seen many years. The dream is has rich brown tones. I look at the man behind the counter. He has olive skin. He looks embarrassed. You’ll want the pasta and spinach he says. Behind him the shop is barren. I ask if they have a menu. He looks even more embarrassed. I look around. Sticking out of a stack of old, battered pizza cooking trays is the corner of a laminate menu. I look at it. He is non-committal. I wonder why I am here and what time it is. A watch face, a very large watch face appears. When I look closely it is saying 12:20. I am no longer worried that it is lunch time. I ask for the menu again. This time the pile of old pizza trays has increased. But the corner of the menu still sticks out from part way up the pile. I relent and order the spaghetti and spinach.
I sit at an old wooden table on a chair. As I eat other people come in. Quickly the few tables around me are filled up. A woman and her young son ask if they can sit at my table, there are no other places left. I do not mind. So they sit there. They have blond hair. When they get up to leave, I see her face for the first time and recognize her as a woman I knew from a long time ago. I give them each a hug before they leave. As they walk out the front door the dream ends. I had finished my meal.
