It still exists (a #dream)

My uncle/cousin came to visit. Decades after we last met so with more wrinkles and grey hair. Since my mother (his sister) couldn't make it, I picked him up from the airport/train- or busstation?

I took him to our place where he helped me sort my vinyl records collection to trade or sell later. Quite a few singles from 70s artists I had four or five from, sometimes in different prints. 'Venus' by Shocking Blue was one of them.

My uncle/cousin and I walked around in the neighbourhood which had been transformed to its seventies version: more dirt on the streets, no bike lanes, more homeless people, more independent run shops, some run by squatters spray painting home build beds.

At an outdoor thrift shop I found two similar paintings, as if embossed in green, shiny ceramics. One depicted what seemed like a man's face, with a different look on his face, depending on how the light fell on the piece. I offered the seller €50 for the two. And he looked surprised. Not sure because I was under- or over offering.

Music coming from a few basements and everyone smiling, save for a guy with dog. A black and white boxer. 

My mother called (from work?), excited to see her brother again soon and asking me if he could sleep in my double bed because it felt a bit awkward to have him sleep with her in her single bed. Of course!

He told me about the adventures he had in his favourite coffeeshop in the seventies and produced a beautiful grin when I texted him it still exists.

Pointing at him (a #dream)

Going through old notes, I found this dream I apparently had, back in 2011:

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'Don't be afraid and just come along. How about we make a deal: if you don't like it, you can just leave.'

The young man allowed himself to be carried away and was admitted through a low hatch in the side of the building via a steep slide that ended at a few old pale green cushions that just did not sufficiently break his fall.

As he slowly stood up and rubbed his aching tailbone, he saw small dining tables all around him, like the round two-person tables in a romantic restaurant. Each table was neatly set with bright white damask, silver cutlery and a red rose in a tall silver glass vase that seemed ready to fall over at any moment. At each table sat a man and a woman, dressed as if they were going to watch the ballet after dinner.

The dozens of tables in the dimly lit basement were so close together that it was a good thing that the traditionally dressed waitress was quite thin. But she still sometimes had to struggle to squeeze between two tables to take an order.

Above his head he heard a cruel female voice say: 'I like the way number six is ​​conditioned but what should we do with him?'

When he looked up he saw the woman pointing at him.