I just woke up from one of my heated dreams.
As usual, gasping for breath and feeling heavy headed, but satisfied.
I walked into an urban bungalow with white walls and hanging ceilings in need of repair. Everything was bare, with soot and ash in the corners. Tables knocked over, and boxes on the floor.
People were milling around: discussing, tending to each other, avoiding one another in groups of twos and threes.
I introduced myself. Or maybe I was approached. I can’t quite remember.
I told them my name, and they checked on a clipboard; it wasn’t quite my name, but it was what they wanted to hear. They knew more about what I was doing there than I did, apparently.
"She’ll be here in a second. She was out on business."
Keri walks in, flanked by two accomplices. For now she appears to be in her late 20s, with short hair and a green t-shirt. She looks like Bruno Mars and a lumberjack had a baby. She’s hot, and sweaty, and angry about something. She recognizes me and in some colossal misstep I manage to touch her chest by accident. I’m promptly punched in the face and brought heavily to the ground. Keri, the beautiful woman in a green dress with a gold necklace, points aggressively at me and shouts that no one is ever allowed to touch her. She stomps off in heavy boots and jeans with kickboxing hand-wraps, and a tank top.
Sitting on the floor, back against the kitchen counter, two other people inform me of my mistake. They assure me that I’ll get it sorted out sooner or later.
I’m told I’m in a halfway house between here and ‘over there’. Everyone here is on their way somewhere. I tell them that I have no idea where I’m going or how I got here, and while they seem a bit surprised, they don’t seem worried.
I watch people come and go. Door opening and closing, hallways being flooded by white light and spewing desert heat as people walk in and out.
Keri doesn’t come back.
When I wake up, I know I’ve made it halfway to somewhere, but I still can’t figure out where.