Visiting Uncle Mack

Last night, I dreamt that I met up with my great-grandfather, “Uncle Mack,” on my trip to Phoenix this fall. He lived in a secret, garden level apartment reserved for maintenance men. The apartment was next to the interstate on an express bus line and he lived a mile away from WalMart. I spent most of my dream helping him with carpentry and electrical projects like I did when I was a kid, only we worked at night.

He couldn’t really walk right. Instead of walking, he was perpetually almost falling and catching himself. As he approached the stairs from the 2nd floor apartment, he slipped a pillow under his belt on his butt and, to my horror, fell down the stairs. “Ow,” he said, laying for awhile, “the pillow helps,” and he stood up again with just a few bruises.


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