(2/10/05) the $700 casa bonita train

(Entered in paper journal at 9:45 PM at home in Harlem.)

Dream 1

I was in a house with JN from Morningside Park. She had received some kind of promotion. She was now assigned to monitor some potentially illegal activity. A man (a lecturer I knew in waking life from the New York Tolerance Center) who may have called himself the District Attorney came by to inspect JN's performance.

I was crouched somewhere, like I was cleaning a floor. The man caught sight of me, thought I was a drug addict, and determined he would follow JN and me to XXXXX to make sure I wasn't getting her involved in drugs.

JN and I were in the bathroom. JN was now a skinny, attractive girl. I was in some kind of lingerie, though I wasn't wearing anything like panties or lingerie bottoms. I had a huge penis, which showed below some sheer, black camisole.

We were now at the place. I can't remember this part.

I was outside, looking at a red-bodied subway train. I was happy because maybe I'd get to ride it.

(By this point in time in waking life, red-bodied subway trains were being replaced by newer, silver-bodied trains with white interiors and periwinkle-blue seats. I called them "ghost trains." And I was always happy whenever I got to ride one of the old, red-bodied trains.)

But as the red-bodied train got closer (as if coming round some small, rocky slopes) I saw it was more like an old-style railroad train, slow-moving, windowless, almost like a chain of clean trolleys.

The train passed by so slowly that I got to ask passengers questions. Where were they going? Somewhere up north (like this was the Metro North). How did they eat on such a long trip? There was "free" dinner. It was included in the ticket price, which itself was reasonable. Excited, I ran into some chambered cave like the white caves at Casa Bonita to purchase a ticket.

My mom sat with some folks in a chamber. She said, "Don't get too excited. The 'reasonable' ticket price is seven hundred."

I continued running. I thought to myself, Well, seven hundred isn't that bad. But I quickly stopped. I must at first have thought my mom had meant seven hundred cents, or seven dollars. But now I realized she'd meant seven hundred dollars!

I shouted, "Seven hundred dollars! That's awful!" I felt like all my money was slipping away.

I was now sliding down a tunnel slide that was still like the chambered, white caves at Casa Bonita.