rshort1202

I am walking on a path that is about to fork and incline up a hillside. I think Mom or someone else is with me. There are also two middle aged or younger women that have been walking fairly close to us. They start talking with us, asking if we think they can manage the uphill. They seem kind of sketchy to me, so I try to get them to take the path in the other direction. They end up choosing to do so, and I think it is so they don’t have to keep walking awkwardly close to us. On the uphill now, the path is narrow and sandy. I see the women walking off in the other direction and one is pulling a cart behind her, so I guess it’s good they didn’t come this way anyway.




I am outside somewhere with Melissa, and we’re walking up to some pizza place. The storefront has some windows - I see no door - and a stainless steel counter top. There are a few picnic style tables crowded together in the front, currently all full (I think with only men). The owner? is sitting among everyone, facing us, and I hear him call out for someone’s order. He has an air of being among everything in a perfectly friendly way while also being on top of all the operations. He seems shorter and rotund, shaven and with short but thick brown hair, and genial. He takes a pizza on a white paper plate and tosses it to someone like a frisbee. It nears the ground and then slows impossibly until the guy grabs it. We’re now sitting across from this guy at a high table. He is eating from a plate of something. There are a few, three?, beers brewed/served here, and I contemplate getting one. I think they’re all IPAs, which I’m not too thrilled about. The guy refers to one as ‘thickest/dankest’? and I decide that it does sound good. I offer to get him one, and he says something about not needing another, but says yes anyway. I can tell by his grin and behaviors that he is feeling it.

I am walking up to a restaurant with Mom and Makayla. It is dim or dark outside. I think this place is Italian. We’re greeted by a hostess at a table on a little covered section outside the place. She seems sort of somber and then ends up telling Mom something like ‘sorry about Catholic Charities’. I think she is going to relay to the manager that we’re here. We walk in, passing all the tables, and end up in a large back room. It seems like it’s more for staff. There are a few giant pizzas and large portions of side dishes set out on table clothed tables. Some employees are casually coming and going while we’re in here, so casual that I hear one cuss. I now grab some food. I go back for some mac ‘n’ cheese, the underside of which is badly burnt, a black crisp. I think it still tastes fine. There is a subdued sense of excitement that this is going to be comped because they actually care what happened with Catholic Charities.