Last night I dreamt of a very long-haired Pat Gill. Or, I guess, not *very* long-haired, but past the shoulders and brushing just to the center of his shoulder blades, peppered with single strands of grey.
I bumped him on the subway. Public transit terrifies me, so I jostled from foot to foot, earbuds in and humming stupidly, alternating holding the grab bar nearest me to touching the wall next to the door. One unconscious move brought me into his space, I suppose, and I felt the slightest touch to my arm. Not uncommon or unexpected; more unexpected to not be bumped sometimes, really, but I did glance over my shoulder to mumble a Midwestern "Ope! Sorry!" before returning to a mid-morning stupor.
He was wearing sunglasses, unnecessary other than to make him less identifiable, I assume, and he pushed them up off of his nose into his hair to rest on the top of his head when I stumbled out an apology.
He shrugged and very gently tapped my shoulder with his elbow.
"Now we're even," he said, and pushed the sunglasses back down again.
Then it was my stop and I rushed out, flustered and hurried and totally discombobulated. The rest of my dream was about being lost in New York, eating ramen in a bar in the stump of a huge tree, and trying to find my keys.
But at least that one part was good.
