Nightmare

I became involved in an argue between a sub-Saharan immigrant -those people who are at the traffic lights selling kleenex and car air freshenerts- and a figure whom I couldn´t see because it had it back turned and I couldn´t manage to know if was a man or a woman. According to his gestures and manners he seemed a male although his voice wasn´t fit.

This person demanded to the immigrant an amount of money. That weir figure didn´t agree with the money that the poor African handed him in and pushed him with one hand, while with the other (raised index finger) convinced the young peddler to give him the rest of the sale.

"Do not ever think about keeping what belongs to me. You can't fool me! On top of that we let you stay here, you want to rob me? The picture was worth much more. Anyone would have paid for it 80 euros; so come on, do not piss me off anymore and give me the rest."

The young who sold kleenex at the traffic lights, at last, rummaged among his rucksack pockets and he took a bluish note out and gave it to the furious man.

I kept very close to the scene and the strong build of that bloke frightened me. So I didn´t dare of taking part. I tried of shouting but my voice died inside my throat!

"A lot better. I repeat you the next time don´t attempt to lie to me, otherwise I´ll come back with my pitbull in order to settle my scores with you. Here, you are other painting and, you know, pull of a good deal."

This time I could see the painting: it was the last I had painted! And I could see the face of that thug: my face it was! Then I felt a big breathlessness and pain in my chest. Fortunately I woke up. My heart beated like a runaway horse.

Dear Fran, this was what I have dreamed last night.

Y. a.

Mary