A week ago I voted, with the ambivalence I always bring to my presidential vote, for Barack Obama. This is necessary backstory, to this: Last night, I had the following comically obvious dream (vividly remembered thanks to the two-year-old down the hall who woke me up at a convenient moment by standing up in her crib and yelling “monster!”): I was riding on a bicycle, going the wrong way on a 4-lane open-access highway – one of those ugly windswept roads you see running through scrubby exurban zones, with lots of dangerous intersections and the odd industrial park off beyond the cattails. I was riding alongside this truck, semivoluntarily, swept up in its draft, and driving the truck was Andrew Sullivan, and he was hosting a talk radio show through the CB receiver. He was still talking up Obama, adamantly, and also hauling ass and not driving very well, even allowing for the fact that he was in the far left oncoming lane and had a bicycle drafting him off of his rear outside tire. The truck slammed over potholes and veered to its left occasionally, threatening to push me into the nasty trench with the cattails and the old hubcaps. Oncoming traffic was miraculously sparse, but, still, I had a terrible sense that I had to get off of this goddamn road before I get killed. I was relieved when I finally freed myself from the truck’s draft and drifted onto the lefthand shoulder. I stopped, got off my bike, and looked hopefully to the other side of the road. But I was directly across from another gone-to-seed industrial park, and the main business still operating there, was – I kid you not – Enron. It didn’t seem a safe place to cross. From there, as I remember it, I made my way to a liquor store.
by Matt Feeney
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