I'm standing in line inside of a department store behind a blond woman in her thirties. We didn't know each other past being "line buddies"; held hostage together by whatever is in front of us and the people behind us. We share a mutual comradery even though we haven't spoken. The dream begins like this, standing in a line that stretches past the scope of my conciseness. People kept appearing from behind the circular, uniform bushes of clothes around us, emerging from the soft darkness created by the overhead lights placed only above us, trying to cut in line with the silence and gravity of guerilla soldiers. But my blond friend and I are ever vigilant. Nobody slips ahead of us. Our relaxed alertness has the ease and confidence of a lifetime of training. Everyone behind us could be murdered and laying in a pulped heap and we wouldn't care, as long as no one cuts in front.
Here comes a young woman with straw-colored hair in a ponytail sneaking past a rounded magazine of sport coats, trying to look nonchalant as she walks towards the line. I don't know how close I am to the front- it is outside of my ken to even wonder -but my position in line is treasured. Our heads swivel in slow unison as we stare at her. She notices. Suddenly she remembers something she needs to do, back the way she came.
My line buddy turns towards me and we smile at each other like we've been doing this for years. I pull out a voice recorder and say, "Line buddy," without breaking eye contact. A short laugh serves as her question. "I want to write it down later," I say.
I wake up.
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The idea for this story stayed with me all day, and while the excitement of a possibly good story faded, the weight of it remained. Like something I really need to remember to do.
Hopefully I can do this kind of random writing exercise every day. Check back to see what else spills out.
- David
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