In my dream, I was meeting friends at a restaurant in a district that was supposed to be midtown Kansas City, but was more reminiscent of a scatological combination of the intersection of Broadway, 8th, and Roebling in Brooklyn and the stretch of Broadway outside of Waldo Pizza in Kansas City....
The restaurant had been a trendy, dark wood, angular lounge that served tapas or gourmet burgers, with quality tap beers and effective, moody lighting and most likely Morphine on the stereo. However, when I was there it seemed as if the previous owner had sold it to an ineffectual, trashy lady who chain smoked and served up powdered cheese tacos. They had covered all of the rich wood floors with patchy astroturf, and the tables were reclaimed winstead's booths crowded into a corner, leaving a large open area in the front with no apparent purpose.
I arrived ostensibly to celebrate my sister's birthday, and I smashed myself awkwardly into a seat near many of my smiling friends. For some reason one of my friends was fumbling around with objects on the table and decided to push the table up - I don't know how this happened, but the table flipped over my head and pivoted on my face. It was quite painful, even for a dream, and I was immediately very irate. I threw the table off of my face and began to berate my friend, but I quickly calmed down and immediately apologized for my outburst, even though it was clearly warranted. The general mirth of the place had subsided as a result and slowly people left as I waited patiently for my order of powdered tacos, until I was alone as they were delivered to my table.
I ate the tacos in silence and then rose to leave, noticing that the place was ready to close down. As I got to the door I saw a couple of my watercolors hanging from the doorknob - a small bit of color in this otherwise sweat stained, smoke filled shithole. I excitedly went to the owner, explaining to her how I had placed those on the doorknob back when the restaurant was a trendy, popular location, and how I was very surprised that they were still around. She didn't seem to particularly care, so I left and took the watercolors with me.
There were many other parts and pieces to this strange, silly dream, but I don't remember them clearly enough to create a narrative. Sometimes after a dream I'll summarize what I remember in a list of points. This is a fine way to reconstruct things and to see just how fertile this space is between my ears.
Of course, I also enjoy naps. Very much so.
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