Monday, April 10, 2006

I wonder if he had the same dream

I'm aware that it's a dream, but I refuse to be late anyway. A meeting is a meeting if it occurs in a boardroom or in an impossibly big roofless treehouse located in the old Red Maple Tree planted in the front lawn of your boyhood home.

I'm lead down to the lower deck of the split level platform. There are tikki torches and the smells of someone barbqueing hamburgers and hotdogs. It's a comfortable spring day, and the leaves move slowly in the cool breeze.

He's already seated at an old redwood picnic table. I notice the table has alittle rot in the legs and the table-top has some give when I sit down on the bench. Must be old. Somebody has set up some DJ equiptment next to us.

We have some meaningless smalltalk. I say meaningless because it's actually incomprehensible muttering between the two of us. I dont even know what my own words are, but they are confidfent and defiant. The subtext is clear. My nemisis knows who I am, and what I intend to do to his legacy.

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