I park my truck on a hill and go into an art gallery. I am joined by three beautiful girls. The tall, loud blond is their leader. She ridicules the paintings for a while and we leave. As I follow them out, the proprietor pleads with me in a humorous Scottish brogue to please buy a painting for my wife. Before I can say anything, he answers for me defiantly: "No, of course not!" The girls wait for me outside, standing against a short chain link fence in the sun. I reenact the encounter for them. They all laugh. We now must cross a muddy river flowing in a deep ravine to get back to our cars. I lead the way, slipping down the muddy bank. I walk upstream for a while to rinse off the mud. My pale blue jeans are all wet but nearly clean. Back on the street, I am confused by the roads and am unable to find my truck. I enter a large glass building. Inside, I see that the doorways are like bulkheads on a battleship. I enter through a doorway at the end of a long a hallway and find myself in a large room with another bulkhead doorway leading out into the same hallway. Here, I am approached by Madonna, who has gained some weight. She leads me to her bed. I worry that someone will come through the door.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #325: When I Met Madonna Inside a Glass Building
Gallery owner brings San Francisco chic to Burque
In addition to a delightfully unusual name, Leslie Acosta-Isengard has a magnificently light voice. It’s dainty and guileless, the perfect complement to her hands, which are so slender that when shaking one of them, you almost wonder if it’s going to dissolve in your palm. Add to these traits a head of jet-black hair and a sylph-like physique, and you’re basically dealing with a woodland sprite. But although she may seem delicate, she’s a woman who isn’t afraid of chasing down what she wants.