Death is Everywhere

Date: 11/10/2017

Shoved aside at work. Other people there and my computer is pushed way out of the way. Mixed races. Can’t find my purse. Go outside. Under a bridge. A man had saved 2 children. There is a monument. Statues of the children hanging upside down and a painting showing them being thrown off the bridge. Yellow streamers. On the way back, I forgot to change out of my nightgown. Just put a jacket over it. Barely covers my butt. The people are all at work because somebody died. They are in a beautiful Victorian era restaurant breakroom. Mixed races. Journal World building. Wrong building! The ladies are crying. Im embarrassed. Can’t find my way out. Accidentally in executive offices. Find a door out, but old lady tells me I have to wait. Everybody white. I back up against the wall. Coroner is bringing body through. The body is a really old guy in nice pajamas. He is dead and alive. Somehow I am tangled in the undertakers jacket. His sleeves inside mine. We are untangling and I’m so embarrass about my grey T-shirt Nightie. He says it would almost work if this were the sixties. We both admire the other girls outfit. Perfectly tailored. Various brightnesses of red. Menswear. Pants. Jacket. But also corset with a brick red trim and a blue and white rose pattern that goes together so perfectly. I can get out of the room. But now I’m stuck at the top of this little breakfast bakery place. Everybody white. Some people below recognize me. They ask what’s become of me. I’m embarrassed and want to get down. Finally slide down the dough shoot embarrassing. Two white cloths need to be moved. I run out. A cool old 80s graffiti style place in a subway. This looks like a better place to work. Everyone is nice. All black. Talking about the dead guy. A jazz musician. I have to go. Walking in city. Homeless kid has hung up so many bed linens. Heavy black quilts. I have to walk through them. Afraid of getting lice. Talk with him. Nice. Smart. Poet. Dirty ratty but well dressed. That Upper Crust type But smells bad. We get to a building. I take off my jacket because I don’t want lice. Now just wearing grey undershirt. Ask homeless kids airing their laundry on the street if they have a skirt or something I can cover my butt with. One does, but swarms of lice or are they flower petals? I am running away. The dead guys were famous old twins. Parade in their honor. Their corpses in front of stretch convertible hearse limo bed. I climb in, crawl between the two old bald dead men in the red part of the hearse. Keep crawling to back where I can stretch out in blue velvet. It’s a movie tribute to the twins. But one is still alive. Moving his white limbs in very strange ways. We were watching tribute on old b/w tv. In a brilliant display case with all his embarrassing riches.