Dream Sequence

June 15, 2010

Satellite Bar, Leidseplein, AmsterdamHis local trouble behind him, Sam entered the bar.  Filled with smoky women and tattooed air, his senses told him something had changed.  He was a man again.  Arms, legs, eyes, ears; they had all returned to him and were now being punished from the assault of the vuvuzelas as they erupted from the flatscreens.  It was Germany versus Australia, and it was sure to be a good fight.

Satellite Bar, Leidseplein, AmsterdamSam looked down at his newly acquired appendages.  They were dressed in the livery of his home country, Australia.  He turned to his companions, as if to ask how he was a man again, but they were too drunk and too engaged in acts of unparallelled patriotism to care.  Rather than question it, he sat back with a pint that suddenly had appeared before him.

Eight minutes in.  Germany.  Three successive goals later at various unnumbered minutes; Germany.  His once happy dream was turning into a nightmare.  The horns were blaring louder, and louder, mocking him and his empty pint, his cape made from his country’s national flag like a out-of-work superhero.  Should he take it off now, now that he had been humiliated?

Satellite Bar, Leidseplein, AmsterdamThe neon lights of the ceiling joined in, humming, laughing at his stupid awkward body as it sat atop its spindly barstool.  Gradually, they began to spin, a slow beating of air as they turned around like Dutch windmills.  Was he man?  Bird?   Sam came to the obvious conclusion.

He was a clown.

Satellite Bar, Leidseplein, AmsterdamSatellite Bar, Leidseplein, AmsterdamAs the windmills spun, Sam fell…

Part 5…

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