At a bookstore, Northwest corner of Cambie and Hastings, I walk up the stairs to a set of double doors. A hallway stairway. I turn around and say out loud to the people shopping down there. "I am in Vancouver now, but I am going back to Dawson Creek tonight on the plane. I am always saying that in my dreams! Windows opening to a view of Hastings Street at Cambie. Cenotaph corner. In the main floor of the bookstore, empty except for few boxes on the floor. Support pillars. At the back of the store, an old man bookstore owner sitting behind a large desk. I walk to him and tell him that I am indeed going back to Dawson Creek tonight.
I walk down the street, Prior Street in Vancouver, going West.Light, magic hour, around 9 pm in the summer, dusk.
North side of the street. Four blocks before Gore and Prior, I am walking. I hear a voice yell "Dean!" I look around. A male Chinese voice. I look again and I see a former high school student leaning out of a window. I say hi back to that person.
Walk down the street more. A couple of guys walk onto the street to say hello. Gays. One guy is white, brown hair, blue jacket. Stepping out onto the street, was the other guy, if you could call it that. A transvestite. Chinese, with a thin silver necklace with three or four silver rods hanging from it, each rod spaced a couple of inches apart on the necklace, and a gold brocade dress. Little gold squares altogether forming a dress.
I say hello to be friendly, but I walk on, shuddering, thinking, visiting Vancouver, the astral version of Vancouver or otherwise, you would run into people like that.
Across the street, the South side of the street, I see a bunch of Chinese girls from high school. They appear to be older than high school, early twenties. One guy is amongst them. I see them and they see me but I thought while in the dreamworld, pretty much what I think in the waking world is that knowing those people again would be a regression. They sense my hesitation of them and hate me for it. Then I reach Gore street, as the street arcs North.
At one point in the dream I remember walking down a mud path, like a construction worker's path, orange things in the road, my thoughts, "I wish I had a couple of thousand dollars so then I could go to Thailand again. Bangkok knows how to protect Chinese people from the Chinese tongs."
Note: In the dreamworld you can run into all kinds of weird characters. You must be fearless to describe them.
