dreamt last night
I am with a couple of old friends. We are in NYC, watching workmen shovel and sweep away enormous clumps of dirt that are the size of bales of hay. Part of their routine is to push the dirt against the curb so that pools of recent storm water can soak it up and dissolve it and they will not present an obstacle to passing traffic. As the men do so, clumps of the dirt scatter through the air and end up adhering to our clothing and skin. We take the time to pick them off of us. The texture is something like that of a moistened steel wool pad or the coarse whiskers of some animal. Some of the portions of street that have been cleaned now look like rich inlaid marble glistening after a quick sunshower.
Eventually the workmen hand tools to us; it is our turn to sweep some of the dirt-bales. Almost immediately a section of a tool pricks a spot on the inside of my wrist, and blood gushes out from an opening the size of a perforation that an office hole-punch would make. I am taken by the color of the blood, it is an almost otherworldly-seeming bright beautiful red. I try to stop the bleeding on my own by pressing the fingers of my other hand against it, but soon begin to feel faint and realize that I must forget the cleaning business at hand for the moment and seek some assistance in staunching the wound.
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