Gold Dust Traveller
Dream | March 10, 2009
I was on a train somewhere in the Swiss Alps. It crawled up steep grades then whizzed along near a crystal-clear lake. When it arrived in Geneva I stood up and looked around for my luggage but I had nothing with me but the clothes protecting my skin from the chilly air. Feeling around in my pockets revealed I had no wallet or anything except my passport and a handful of golden sand.
Afoot in the city I found a jeweler who measured some of the gold dust into a petri dish of acid and stuffed a wad of Euros into my grubby hands. I promptly bought a bowl of pizza soup at an internet cafe. I tried to check my email but couldn't remember my address.
In a dusty hot desert town a man drew me a picture in the dirt depicting three primitive house graphics with a plate of some squiggly food under each. In exchange for a dusting of gold I ate like a king and stayed at his inn for three days.
Somewhere out in the wilderness and deep in a jungle valley with a rushing river I paid gold for a boat ride to the next town. Some of the gold washed away from my pockets.
It happened again when I paid for a skydive over Japan. By the time I hit the ground I was both poor and dead. I don't think I gave them enough for the parachute.