Entry tags:
Dream journal
I was on an expedition to See How the Other Half Lives -- specifically, the Poor White Trash half. At the time the dream opened, I had already made contact somehow with a host family whom I would visit for the day. Conveniently, they weren't halfway across the country, but just in North New Jersey, so ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shalmestere drove there and dropped me off. As we got closer to the address we'd been given (100 Whale Road), the houses and cars-up-on-cinderblocks got more and more disreputable, the frequency of Trump signs in lawns went up, and shalmestere got more and more worried about whether this visit was a good idea. I pointed out (not to ease her fears, but just as an interesting tidbit) that Interstate 95 was just one or two hundred yards away, and yet it looked like a different country.
Eventually we saw a short unnamed street that jogged to the right, at the other end of which was a street sign for Whale Road, paralleling the road we were on, so we took the jog onto Whale and started looking for house numbers. Just as we were running out of numbers, Whale Road veered left and there was 100, in front of a house even more disreputable-looking than most -- indeed, I could scarcely see any actual house behind the piles of trash. I got out, walked up to the house, and introduced myself.
Inside the house was equally disreputable and equally piled high with trash. But everybody was very friendly, and not so different after all -- they turned out to be Viking-era re-enactors. I wasn't clear on how they did their research, since I didn't see any books, but there could have been a substantial library hidden among the piles of trash for all I knew.
And I woke up.
shalmestere drove there and dropped me off. As we got closer to the address we'd been given (100 Whale Road), the houses and cars-up-on-cinderblocks got more and more disreputable, the frequency of Trump signs in lawns went up, and shalmestere got more and more worried about whether this visit was a good idea. I pointed out (not to ease her fears, but just as an interesting tidbit) that Interstate 95 was just one or two hundred yards away, and yet it looked like a different country.Eventually we saw a short unnamed street that jogged to the right, at the other end of which was a street sign for Whale Road, paralleling the road we were on, so we took the jog onto Whale and started looking for house numbers. Just as we were running out of numbers, Whale Road veered left and there was 100, in front of a house even more disreputable-looking than most -- indeed, I could scarcely see any actual house behind the piles of trash. I got out, walked up to the house, and introduced myself.
Inside the house was equally disreputable and equally piled high with trash. But everybody was very friendly, and not so different after all -- they turned out to be Viking-era re-enactors. I wasn't clear on how they did their research, since I didn't see any books, but there could have been a substantial library hidden among the piles of trash for all I knew.
And I woke up.