lynching

chilacas little fat one with grilled veggies, water, late night bowl of frosted flakes

In a Target store. Looking at satchel bags, with my mom and dad, maybe. One is dark blue with light tan edging, my mom suggests it to my father as what he is looking for. I can hear men talking. Two white men are mocking a third, black man calling him "Robert."

"We know why you're here, ROBERT." He sounds slow.

"I know why you're calling me Robert, because Robert [so & so] was a famous [freedom fighter? Democrat? I don't remember, but it meant that he was a civil rights activist]

Choking and cursing noises. View from below as if I were laying on the floor, up past a shelf of shirts or something, as the two white men try to lift the black man, "Robert," up into a nylon-rope-noose. He manages to struggle free once, but then I can see as his head is forced through the loop and he is dropped.

I start awake at this point, pretty freaked out.

Back to sleep:

Out in the desert, at the intersection of two dirt roads. With Gavin Jackson. There is a port-a-john with a canvas cover on it, like a swamp cooler. I'm drumming a rhythm. Gavin walks around one side, I stay opposite him behind the box. I jump up on top of the box & begin to laugh my head off at him.