Late May Dreams

While going for a walk, I stop at a house to pick up some things that I had recently left there. People are in the kitchen setting food on the table for a brunch. I don’t know anyone but manage to find a small inflatable raft and a shirt that belong to me. I walk around some, trying to find a place to stash the items, and annoy the brunch’s host. Still wanting to stash the items so I can continue my walk, I go out onto the patio and then notice two more items that belong to me. I pick up my travel towel bag and a T-shirt with a screaming hand on it, and fold everything up to fit in the bag. I keep looking for a place in the bushes by the road to stash my items, aware that I’m not welcome inside the house anymore.

I have been assigned to duel and kill a gentleman, who has hired me for that reason. He has also hired a second person, a female, to make sure that he dies. In the back of a restaurant, I stand to the left of the man while the woman stands on his right. We’re both pointing rapiers at him, and he half-heartedly holds one as well. I give an advance with my blade and he blocks it with a clank of his own. Distracting him in this manner, the woman easily checks him from behind and puts her rapier’s point onto the back, top-left of his torso. “Finish it,” I demand, but she only guides the man to a booth on the other side of the restaurant. Food is frantically served to the family at the ajoining booth. A child grabs a handful of spaghetti and splats it on his plate. The man at the booth asks us where he can find a realistic wig. I tell him that he can find something in the yellow pages, or maybe go to the high-end dress shops on Montgomery St. “Those who can afford good wigs, go to the Financial District,” I say.