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Rowdy’s Dream Blog #354: They Live in the Bathroom
I step into a city park restroom through a broken cinder block wall. As I start to pee into a central basin I see dark eyes peering at me over a stall. The eyes are filled with fear.
A tall, thin dark Indian man steps out. His head and hands are wrapped in bandages. He offers, in impeccable English, to do odd jobs for me.
He presents his daughter. She is small and cute with red hair and a green dress. She lives with her father in the bathroom. She seems to know some database concepts. I know I can find some work for her. I won't be able to call her but I know where to find her.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #353: I Need to Get Those Maps
My brother-in-law and I are about to leave on a trip for which we will need two maps: one of Phoenix and and another of Bandelier. My neighbor M has them.
A new red jeep backs up into our driveway, proceeding to their house which is behind ours. They are leaving too. I need to get to the maps. I walk around back to their house. I see the maps are already in the back of their station wagon, but their house is gone now. It's just a low wire fence around some dirt.
I see M and L sitting on a bench outside the house next door. I step over the low fences and approach them. They are watching intently as an irrigation ditch is being filled with a lot of water. A guy in a gray suit is diving for bodies. He finds one and floats it to the surface.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #352: A Story About Waiting at an Intersection
I meet my pal E on a downtown street. He starts to tell me a long story about seeing me in my truck. According to him, I was waiting at a light for J, who stuttered as a child, to cross the street. I finally grew to impatient and raced through the intersection, causing all my bottles of prescription drugs to bounce off my rear bumper into the street.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #351: Falling Off a Log
I am trying to follow G as she climbs a tree to get out onto a fallen-log bridge that goes over a deep canyon. I can't seem to make the last step from the tree to the log because my left foot keeps changing into something else. The log bridge shifts suddenly in its notch, knocking G off her balance and causing her to spin around it like a propeller. She files off and falls, hitting her head on a rock with a loud crack.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #350: John Kerry’s Dog
The front seat of my truck is filled with grocery bags. I pull into John Kerry's driveway behind a white minivan. I speak with him through my window. He is offering a million dollars to anyone who can catch his dog. I can hear the dog barking in the trees out back. I see U, from work, aiming a camo-painted dart rifle at the dog while his sidekick looks on.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #349: The Origin of the Butternut Root
I joke with my brother about the origin of the butternut root, telling him that their special flavor comes from the way they are harvested: by monkeys who store the roots in their butts as they pick them.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #348: How to Paint with Watercolors
I receive a commission to paint a watercolor for a girl. She wants me to paint a girl pointing a gun at her. She provides me with a large palette with new grass growing on it, and stones that can be scraped for color. My pal T advises me. He has taken a watercolor class recently.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #348: How to Move a Giant Basket from the Inside
I join my pal R in the task of giant Indian basket moving, which involves standing inside the giant, boat sized, wicker basket with red-painted bow-and-stern-ends, and throwing one's weight against the side or kicking at the keel to move the basket along the trail.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #347: When the Aliens Come We Sleep on the Grass
My sister and I sleep on the grass in the front yard of our childhood home. The whole town has been abducted by aliens. They fly north overhead in lighted cylinders in long procession. The grass around us grows long.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #346: She is Crazy
As I return from my jog I pass some bleachers. Two beautiful blonds call out to me: 'We're single! You're single!' I give them dual thumbs up and then trip and stumble as I continue on. I hear laughter. Later, inside, I recline on the couch in an embrace with the taller of the two. I am awestruck by her familiar beauty. She seems to be attracted to me too. Then I see the problem: she is crazy. She channels Napoleon and her bare skull face is tightly bound with many windings of dental floss.
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