I was waiting to valet my car. I thought I was in L.A. but maybe it was N.Y. Maybe it was downtown L.A. Bill Maher was the dispatch guy. I didn’t know until I got to the front of the line to pay. He reminded me of “Louie” AKA Danny DeVito on TAXI.
As I pulled up to park I found myself behind multiple olive green tank-like vehicles with thick and voluminous wheel treads. They were maneuvering out of line, stuck going back and forth, but finally pulled out. A shot of intimidation. The path was clear once they left. I pulled up to the front and got out of my car and while waiting for a ticket from the attendant saw Christopher Walken from the 1980s walking towards me. He noticed me, stopped in his tracks, and leaned down to give me a kiss on my cheek.
My brother Marc and I had just been talking about Christopher Walken, or someone like him, so I asked Christopher Walken if I could have an autograph. He was happy to but then I realized I didn’t have a pen. I did not think to take a picture with him until it was too late.
Marc and I were both sick with something, I was staying at his house. I told his wife Lisa about supplements I was taking and asked if Marc would like some. She thought that sounded great so I went to their kitchen to get them and as I reached into the cabinet another bottle filled with tiny dots, pebbles fell and spilled everywhere on the floor. I slipped on them and onto the ground and cursed about it at my sister-in-law who thankfully ignored the outburst, possibly chalking it up to my illness.
We decided to get some fresh air and walk the dogs. It was very busy on the streets in their neighborhood, which was unusual and atypical. It was like a Christmas parade, everyone out and about, strolling the cul-de-sac. We decided to try some back streets to get some quiet but they were filled too. We saw a penguin that barked like a dog at us. “I didn’t know they made that sound,” I said.
Back at dispatch, still waiting for my car, Chris Walken’s kiss still on my cheek, I stood next to Bill Maher as we looked down from his perch and surveyed the scene below. A group of men were watching a band. I could only see the back of the band members’ heads. The men in the crowd were very amped up and seemed mad. They were yelling at the band while they were performing. It was a punk rock band so maybe the men were just singing the lyrics along with them but they seemed to have some extra menace in them. Why are men so angry, I wondered.
Just then Bill Maher yelled out. He saw my car on the street. Another valet company had taken it. They were, according to Maher, the worst. Bill was gearing up to blow a gasket.
At a certain point on our walk with the dogs, after seeing the penguin, my niece got tired so I picked her up and carried her. She is twenty years old. It was fine. It was a dream so it worked. We walked and we walked and night eventually turned into day, and we got to a restaurant, bustling also, and I put my niece down and we, I presume, all ate a meal of oatmeal made of rose petals and toast made of beating hearts.