Series of Dreams

I was laughing, walking toward Armando, Nickie, and Antoinetta, the old-timer Italians on my street. Today's Bloomsday, the world in a day, and the sky was roiling, as it might over Dublin (Withers being Eccles, here). "I can feel it in my fingertips! The air is charged! It's going to rain," I cried. I amuse them to no end. Then, how great, we watched the rain begin on the Bamonte's side of the street, we staying dry...before it crossed to our side (after looking both ways), and I went in.

I was listening to "A Series of Dreams."

"Dreams where the umbrella is folded
Into the path you are hurled
And the cards are no good that you're holding
Unless they're from another world

In one, numbers were burning
In another, I witnessed a crime
In one, I was running, and in another
All I seemed to be doing was climb
Wasn't looking for any special assistance
Not going to any great extremes
I'd already gone the distance
Just thinking of a series of dreams" - Bob Dylan