Granada Dreams

It is like some party where they slaughter a bunch of animals. Two main guys were in charge. My parents seemed to put this party on or something. Nobody was sure if it was real meat or not, but nobody cared about that other than me. It was in some hotel conference room and there was blood everywhere, big pools, clumps of muscle, the walls textured with smears. It was in a school too, my high school, and also on a University campus that was supposedly Fordham.

Later we were talking about going to Spain and I couldn’t figure out why I had gone home only to come back with my parents, instead of having met them in Spain. I was frustrated because dad seemed in control of the trip now and I wasn’t practicing Spanish and all my work seemed lost.

We went to some Italian restaurant and the guy working there was like a wheeler dealer trying to push everything on us. I ordered a dish with rice and vegetables and he said, “is that your dinner?” and gave my parents weird look as if to say, “you two will eat those dishes while he only has that for dinner?” but it seemed like so much to me. He said “at least have some peanuts” but I refused and my dad said “No” because he was annoyed the guy had undermined his authority concerning his son. Dad’s dinner was bad and when they asked us how it was, later, I spoke out and said, “No. His is Bad!” My dinner hadn’t come out yet, though, so when it did, I just got it to go.

I was driving, maybe home after the restaurant, but mom wasn’t there, just me and dad. I noticed a cop car behind me and thought I had been going fast, then noticed a cop car in front of me that was heading right towards me in the wrong lane. I crashed right into him and then pull onto a side street to see what the situation was. The cops swooped over and threw me down on the ground. Eventually I went home.

There was some club in Harrison on the way that was known for wild parties or lots of sex or something. There was a poster of people fucking but it was like the men/women bathroom signs. Dad mentioned something about the place to warn me.

Paul Lauber was there and I still had not eaten. There were some Mexican coca-colas at home that everybody was drinking. Mom was in the kitchen with a pile of dishes but she claimed she really wanted to wash them and that she truly didn’t mind.

I had to go because I had to meet Will Kaisers parents who I was doing work for. We were going out to dinner first and we went back to the same crappy Italian restaurant. Kaiser’s mom said that she loved that place. She brought her own bag of pasta and said “I’m a vegetarian. its all about the feta chini”