Last night I went to bed at a decent hour. My eyes closed reading AMERICAN TABLOID by James Ellroy. He really hated the Kennedys and I dreamed about my meeting RFK at the Lower Mills trolley stop in 1966. JFK’s younger brother shook my hand with the a reincarnated firmness.
I attempted to warn him about the gunman in the LA hotel, but a pounding noise disrupted my Sunday morning slumber.
The thumping came from the construction of a condo a good ten blocks from the Fort Greene Observatory. I checked my telephone for the time.
The contractors had their workers at it early probably to catch up on a yesterday lost to snow and rain. I looked out the window. This morning’s sky was blue with wispy clouds. I hadn’t turned on the heat. My bedroom was cool, although I couldn’t see my breath.
The work crews on the condo wouldn’t be so lucky and I hoped that they were getting double overtime and buried myself in my pillows, hoping to regain contact with RFK.
He was still back there in my dreams.
Forever young same as me.