As Real as The Car

Sofie, Christine and I were driving down the street late last night. We were in London. It was dark and rainy. There was no snow and it was surprisingly warm for this time of year. We weren't dressed for winter, which makes me think that perhaps it wasn't this time of year. Christine was driving our small white pinto, and Sofie was navigating, which is odd, because Sofie doesn't know London at all. I was in the back seat wearing my black winter coat.

As we came to the railway tracks at Trafalgar and Hale we saw a vehicle consisting of considerably sized pink vinyl lips and a shabby brown couch much like the one that used to occupy the basement at the Cascade house.

While passing through another intersection we noticed similar pink lips. These lips, however, were much smaller and stood in the middle of the intersection on stubby wooden legs. I happened to be aware at the time that the lips had just moved from the far right corner of the intersection into the middle. As we drove by I saw a phantom of these pink lips standing on the street corner, a vestige of a former life of harlotry.

We had turned left at that intersection, which was odd because I, wearing the white and blue jacket leant to me by Sofie, had the distinct impression that we were heading north, although we were in fact heading away from my house. At this point we found ourselves on Oxford, having somehow just turned off of Clarke, which runs north-south. We were driving westward on Oxford when we saw a dark brown station wagon that was plastered with brightly coloured stickers, giving it the appearance of a well-traveled oversized suitcase à la loony toons.

As we reached the point where Dundas became Oxford (an impossibility) we saw a large transport truck decorated in much the same fashion. At this point we were convinced that a certain art and home furnishings store, with which we were very familiar but which I cannot name at present, had fallen into some form of misfortune. Sure enough, finally driving eastward on Dundas and definitely homeward bound, we saw the store, with it's stylish bright blue signs and neon lights, ablaze.

At this point I suddenly became aware that we were no longer in Sofie's pinto but on an LTC bus. Also, Renata had joined us, but she was not quite herself. She had taken on the physical form of a personality, not a character but a specific type of personality, that I have at some point in my life personified. This personification has a name. I am uncertain at this time but I believe that it may be Peabody. Renata/Peabody made a rather intelligent observation about the state of the store and its merchandise, which I unfortunately cannot remember.

Having arrived at home, my home in reality but not in appearance, we all stood in the kitchen around a white island eating regular lays and drinking coca cola from cans. Ciara, Katie, and Anna had arrived. I cannot recall the conversation, but it was not particularly relevant. There was some discussion of the fire and generally a lot of joke-cracking and laughter.

Later on in the evening after the regular lays were finished and the gathering had dissipated into a few small groupings around the kitchen I, wearing my garnet nylon jacket, noticed a rather large spider on the countertop of the white island. After announcing my discovery the majority of my friends screamed and fussed in extremely girlish manners and I was left to address the issue on my own, while the others cringed but looked on from a distance, forming a broken circle around me within the kitchen.

The spider was a light tan colour, much like those often found within the home. He (there was no doubt that he was, in fact, a he) had six thick legs. Yes, I am aware that this means he was not really a spider. I believe that this is perhaps why he was so irate to begin with. His two middle legs were shorter than the others, and he held them rigid and back at an angle, giving him the perpetual appearance of a runner set to race. As I prepared to strike he motioned as though he was a miniature Bruce Lee, already preparing a Kung-Fu style counter-attack. His mouth, which was decidedly human in appearance and lacked any sign of pincers, contorted as though he were saying "hwaaa" in a stereotypically I-am-a-Kung-Fu-warrior-about-to-make-my-attack style.

I took a magazine and rolled it, aware that I would role it too tight and that the spider was too large to be affected by such a small weapon. Sure enough, my attack was successful only in propelling a now angry spider onto my shirt. Ciara yelled in horror and the others let out varied moans and shrieks. As I tried to bat the spider with the magazine Laura appeared and the party instantaneously returned to normal while I was left to fend for myself.

My only question: Where was Andrea during all of this?