Dreams

Private eye

I dreamt I was a private eye. I think I was in New Orleans. I was looking for a woman, but I wasn't working for anyone, I was on my own. I knew her personally. I was tracking her by drops of blood on the street, which was hard, since it had rained recently. I went into a bar where some of her friends were. They seemed unnatural, watching me closely, their eyes dark and bright. They chuckled and laughed at my efforts, amused. "Do you really want to find her? Why? No, stay, have a drink."

She: was slight of frame and had dark hair. When she looked at me I grew excited, like endlessly meeting her for the first time. My last memory of this girl was of her slitting open her finger with a razor. Her lips parted slightly as she drew in her breath, her eyes lowered as she drew the metal through her skin. "This is all there is," she'd said.

I left the bar and walked around, now turning corners at random. The French Quarter was vividly real, the buildings old and ornate and comforting. It had started to rain again when I found her. She was at the end of the street, and went into a doorway. I hurried to catch up. We were inside some grand hotel. Wet and tired, I spoke with her about the future, about us. She was cool, and a little sad. I wasn't ready, I was told. In desperation I spent what time I could with her, her presence reassuring but unsatisfying. By the time she was gone I realized many days had passed and my cat, neglected, had died.