everything was closing in

So I had a dream last night

that

I was wan­der­ing around what seemed like an over­grown city (New York or Chica­go) where every­thing was like a Co­hen Bros. film but even more­so. Exaggerated.

All was run­down. And lots of things were old and held to­geth­er with paint. And mut­ed col­ors, sepia.

There were peo­ple every­where – Co­hen-like char­ac­ters. All busy, all do­ing things. Every­one was work­ing their hearts out to get ahead in a sys­tem dead set against them. And every­one was talk­ing about – ex­pect­ing – how they were go­ing to be the big wheel, the big cheese, the Big Time Op­er­a­tors (BTOs) etc. I spent most of my time try­ing to get from one place to an­oth­er in over­crowd­ed buildings. 

Get­ting through the crowds of fu­ture BTOs.

I fi­nal­ly found a spot to eat at a very New York-like counter place. I had two guys on ei­ther side of me. They had steak, which meant their BTO sta­tus was ‘get­ting there.’ I count­ed my change and or­dered a hot dog. It took for­ev­er to get ser­vice. There were dif­fer­ent types of dogs on the menu, but no prices. I asked which was the cheap­est one. The serv­er said, rude­ly, “You look like one of the ones who can’t af­ford to eat. So it’s half price.”

Still didn’t know what half price was – but was hun­gry so I or­dered – then I got the check. 55 bucks for a hot dog and I didn’t have that amount. The guy next to me paid for it, de­tain in his eyes. Said he was “Pay­ing it for­ward,” and “You look like one of the ones who can’t af­ford to eat.”

In­fla­tion was crazy and a gi­gan­tic com­pa­ny owned every­thing. All small busi­ness­es re­port­ed to the ex­ec­u­tives at the gi­ant com­pa­ny that every­one was try­ing to im­press, work their way up through. None of the busi­ness­es were pri­vate. All part of this company.

I fi­nal­ly made it out­side and it was walls of peo­ple. All head­ing some­where. Church­es were every­where and over­head I saw a free­way of­framp car­ry­ing semi­trucks that al­most kept falling of the over­pass. The free­way was falling apart and peo­ple were duck­ing de­bris of con­crete and twist­ed rebar. 

A lot of the peo­ple were nice – and they loved talk­ing – tho usu­al­ly about them­selves. And how far ahead they were get­ting in the com­pa­ny. And how Je­sus was on their side. 

I spent most of my dream try­ing to find my wife, who I had left sleep­ing in a booth at a small trav­el agency. The booth was from an old restau­rant, the walls were paint­ed bright pink. 

The trav­el agency took up a small space in what was a cor­ner room in a ten­e­ment build­ing. No one want­ed to trav­el, so this agency did Chi­nese take­out on the side cause it was more lucrative.

The guy who ran the place want­ed to pay me to de­liv­er the food – even though the map app would­n’t work on my phone – and I had no idea where I was, let alone which city I was in.

My wife woke up and was glad to see me – hav­ing no idea how lost I was for most of the en­tire dream. Then the neigh­bor start­ed yelling at one of her kids out­side our win­dow (in real life) and I woke up.
 

So

any­one have sev­er­al mil­lion on hand so we can bring this epic to the screen?
 
 

—steve mehal­lo

Flom­mist Steve Mehal­lo is a graph­ic de­sign­er, il­lus­tra­tor, font de­sign­er, ed­u­ca­tor, food­ie and gad­fly. He is the cre­ator and founder of FLOMM! Im­age swiped from the NYT (dark­ened and blurred in Pho­to­shop); it seems to fit ‘what was play­ing out in my head.’

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