Last night I had this dream:

i am in Alberta, Canada, looking for an automobile part with a man who is both an intellectual and a racing car enthusiast. He knows this city, where i have never been before, and guides me through the portal into a large arcade.

We pass a bulletin board crowded with messages. One, a white rectangular card, catches my attention. I show it to my friend the card, who says, "So what?"

But i know that the names on the message are those of witnesses, that the message is from the poet Robert Creeley, and is meant for me.



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