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Skelleggin' Ireland

Saturday August 15, 1992

I just woke up from the worst nitemare I've ever had. I am trying not to throw up and I don't know I can go back to sleep, cause I'll throw up if I have this dream again.
From what I can remember, I was looking at a crime photograph (as I had done in another dream or a dream a few nights ago); that is, a photograph of a murder scene or the actual event of the murder that had been clouded to begin with, so conclusive proof could not be drawn from it. I was looking at the photograph on behalf of George. I was trying to wipe away this stuff and I couldn't or something. At least I was working at it. And like before, my neighbor and classmate Jenni was there and looking at photos for Jerry Wexler, her grandfather. She suggested we go and do them together at her place, so then we're in her Mom's old Mercedes. She's driving from the backseat, I'm on the left side of the front seat.

I hear on the radio that there's a killer escaped, named Larry, he's described as carrying this knife and he's in the area Jenni and I are (that is Oak and Michigan in Chicago). I look around and see him standing on the corner leaning against a building. He's wearing a black shiny thigh-high jacket, white framed black sunglasses and a black hat.

I yell and point out the sun roof where he is and no one seems to notice, certainly not some cops standing around near an underpass. Larry lopes across the street and the next time I see him, he has removed the hat and shades and he looks like this horribly scarred homeless man who used to beg for change on public transit here in Chicago. His parched black skin was pulled tight over his skull and there were tiny knobs of bleached hair coming out. The colour of his lips had run into that of his face - like paint dribbled, spilled, running over his face. His eyes were milky white. He was bone thin. He was carrying a knife like this:

i n s e r t d r a w i n g

long from his right hand. I think Jenni was trying to back up, (we'd be heading down the outer drive past our house, but she was tring to back up to continue south). Traffic had stopped because he was there.

When Larry reached that aforementioned group of cops, he grabbed one of them, a fat middle aged black haired Italian and jerked his arm so his shirt popped open. Larry stuck his knife into him once, just below the belly button. Then he started to back across the outer drive towards the beach dragging this still walking cop along behind him, stopping to stick him in the gut always just above the last cut.

Now I was screaming that I would drive (and I was sure I could) except i couldn't get hold of the controls. I could feel myself trying to pull out of sleep but I was starting to play out the options for Larry, where he would go, where there were cops, how long would this cop stay alive (so he wouldn't be shot), etc.
Finally I was awake, holding my stomach in the dark, at 3.08am. I tried to drift back to sleep, but Larry instantly appeared. So I started fumbling for my walkman, cause I was starting to imagine him coming up the stairs here and his face at the window, as I am now, the music, some guy screaming about dead babies, wasn't helping me any, so I removed the headphones and just tried singularly to calm my imagination, also cause I felt nauseated. I still think I'm gonna throw up.

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