smooth

GRAVEL

25.  Yesterday, not one of the passengers in my taxicab knew what a dap was, and after explaining it's the greeting Michelle Obama used with her husband on TV, lightly touching each other's right fists, could see how my DAP sticker (with a splash of red!) had opened their minds just a crack. With some of them I had to explain how the back peels off. "It's a sticker!" I tell them, "not a card!" (Dream) A truckful of Muslim men are racing towards an opposing truck packed to the gills with Christians, in sort of a gladiator fashion. I'm not so sure what comes of that. Some Muslims have just come down an escalator at the SFO International terminal. I race around among them. Then a group of five of them herd me back onto the up-escalator, blocking my way back down. They want me to see something. Just as the escalator emerges from underneath an overhanging wall, I look back up and see a huge white arrow pointing down at us. A whisper voice says, "//. ../// .../ /.. /// /... ./ /.. /./... ./ Monday //. ../ /.../ /./ /.. /./ /.... /.. //. ..," and a second one answers, "// .../ /... ../ /... // ../ /.../ /.. ../ Maybe Tuesday //. ././ ../ /../ /.. ../. ./.. ./ ../ ./." I'm at Civic Center in San Francisco standing with a small group of Muslim men by my taxicab, which I've had parked there a short while. Suddenly Shamaila appears from the direction of City Hall, and races over to talk to each of them, marching right by me. Another group appears, and it's her father, this time, whose hair has grown long and white, making his way along with his brothers to see what my housemate has done with the back yard of our building. I'm not all that concerned with all this as I continue to work steadfastly on my tiles. They're not just watertight now, the way they fit together. They're airtight! (Fin) It's Saturday morning, I'd like to point out, the 18th of August, 2012.