Dream of: 04 February 2021 "Steve's Road"  

parables fables

and dreams all tell stories which

lead to a moral  

 I am in a polling place in a building where black people have come to vote on something. I am helping with the process. Only one issue is being voted on: whether the people should return to vote again on a separate issue. There are no actual ballots. The voters simply write their vote on a piece of paper. I am helping them prepare the papers. I am not even sure how to do it. I just think I need to put circles on a piece of paper—one with a "Yes" and one with a "No." The people have to pick either "Yes" or "No." This is how the people are voting. This is tedious work. I simply want to leave.

Finally, I end up back at my apartment. A man who seems to have been working at the voting place has come here with me. I realize that I am in India. The man looks Indian and I particularly notice his coal-black hair. I only moved to this apartment a short while ago. The apartment is in a giant, slummy building containing government-subsidized apartments. The man sits down at the kitchen table which has a pile of white, used tissues piled up on it. The man looks at the tissue and says with disgust something like, "I knew it was you."

I know to what he is referring: I have been throwing my used toilet paper in the trash instead of flushing it in the commode. I recently threw the trash out at a place where I am not accustomed to throwing out trash. I realize now that the man found the discarded toilet paper with its ugly smears of brown feces on it. I am embarrassed. I know that the tissue paper which the man has seen on the table is not used toilet paper, but the man is obviously disgusted by seeing the tissue paper on the table, and he pushes it to the side.

I tell the man that I put the toilet paper in the trash because when I put the toilet paper in the commode, it clogged the commode. The man acts as if I should be doing something about taking care of that problem. I tell him that I do not know how to fix it. I finally ask him if he knows a plumber. He gives me some directions and an address where I can find a plumber. He says, "Steve's road. Second framed door on the left."

I write down the words on a small piece of gray slate lying on the table, but the words are almost illegible. I see a piece of small white paper on which I could write the words, but I think it is too late now to write on the paper. I will just have to use the slate. When I look back up from writing, I realize the man has disappeared. I stand up and walk into the kitchen. A second man who is with the first man is in the kitchen. The second man is frying some meat on a skillet on the stove. The meat looks like pieces of chicken. I do not have a problem with this and I think that the second man can use whatever he wants in the kitchen.

I suddenly realize that I have a small amount of marijuana here somewhere in the house. My mind, however, is a complete blank and I do not know where the marijuana is. I know that I could be in big trouble if the man finds the marijuana. India is not like the United States. I could end up going to jail for that. Almost in a panic, I look around the kitchen without seeing the marijuana anywhere. I think it may be in the bedroom. I could go into the bedroom and shut the door behind me. That might look suspicious, but they should not follow me if I go into the bedroom.

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