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Wednesday, January 07, 2004

This morning I dreamt of the same place that, in other dreams, was Venice and another, nameless city. I was walking through a colonnade dappled by the late afternoon sun. I came across a white woman with her two black children. Both of the children had some physical deformity. I remember that one of the children was shrunken, as if he never grew up or never could. All three frowned at me and moved past me in a tight group, the children clinging to the mother. I begged them to take me with them, as I was lost and afraid of the approaching night. They agreed but they still seemed to have suspicions about me.

We walked to the end of the colonnade and there was a crowd of black people there. Everyone in the crowd seemed like the people I saw when I stepped out of the airport in Addis Ababa. The small family disappeared when I looked back. I walked to the edge of the crowd and to the dark street behind.

Standing outside of a three-storey building were many white people in tuxedoes and evening gowns. They were all smiling and looking toward the door of the building. The walkway was lined with musicians.

A bellydancer came out.

That's when I realized that the music was very quiet. I asked the man next to me as to why. He told me the musicians were playing quietly not to disturb the tenants in the adjoining buildings.

I then had an urge to yell or sing aloud. But I woke up instead.

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