The dream scene wasn’t as fraught as the one in which I left two characters I like before calling yesterday over and done with. However, the distance I had to cover by bicycle on a bumpy, rutted access to a highway inspires for some aspects of it. There was a tricky business with on-ramps and off-ramps too that reminded me of mechanical problems on solitary drives to and from Ottawa, Ontario, a few lifetimes ago. However, save for the death of a clutch in a wilderness zone, there’s nothing in those trips that much serves for story purposes.
So much depends on order of presentation. Plus, my state of mind is more inclined toward the light-hearted than toward blunt violence at the moment, so I’ll take the scene one word at a time, amid the rest of the day’s events.
Coda to yesterday’s postal matters: one of the two letters handed to me was from none other than the service provider called Orange. In which the Customer Service person wrote that she heard me. Yes, after three years of unanswered correspondence, my last note had landed in fertile soil (I kept it polite, but profanities hovered). Orange, she said, would no longer threaten legal action for an unpaid amount of twenty euro by the previous contract owner. And she thanked me for my – hold on – yes, my “confiance” (trust) in Orange. So, it seems, I’m not even a minor delinquent.
“She’s on an ascendant”, someone said about me yesterday at a vernissage. Said half as a joke and meaning this is the year in which I may well break into the lower stratum of – how to call it – honorable poverty. In fact, a great first occurs no later than this afternoon when all professional participants to the festivities along the river will be paid for their contribution. The mind boggles. What next? Complacency?
So. Two women, circus artists, chugging along a country road, toward their next gig. Two bikers pull out and attach themselves to their vehicle. I foresee major ruts less than a hundred meters away.