Thursday, May 22, 2008

I was visiting some town in France, I think it was meant to be Lyon. I was looking at a map and it seemed to be somewhere in what was labeled "the Industrial North." I think Jim P. was there too. It was a heavily touristy city, or maybe some event was taking place, some festival. We strolled down a pedestrian street lined with stands serving beer. I was no longer the first person in the dream; I was a disembodied spectator, observing the protagonist's actions from over his shoulder. He approached a stand that sold Guinness. He asked the man if the Guinness was good, and the man replied, with some pique, that it was the best in town.

"How much does it cost?" the protagonist asked.

"Five ninety," the man replied. I understood this to mean five Euros ninety, a steep price.

The protagonist protested and seemed to be angling for a price break or even a free beer. The man handed him a mug of Guinness but then poured a carton of milk over his head, saying something like, "Here's your beer." The milk dripped thickly off the protagonist's head. The man took back the mug and said, "Eventually you won't need this anymore."

Then I was again an actor in the dream. I found Jim in some sort of outdoor market, examining Chilean sea bass steaks by caressing them with his fingertips and the back of his hand. He was dressed in a Roger Rabbit costume. It was for the amusement of his son, Leo, who was there dressed in some kind of costume too. We left the market and Jim and Leo each got into separate cars and raced back to their house along separate routes. Though I was a bit put off that Jim didn't offer me a ride, I ran after them towards their house.