I dreamed there were people living in our apartment—not displacing us, just camping in the living room and the dining room and my office, two or three groups of them, with mattresses and hot plates. They were strangers, but it didn't seem to matter. One of them, a woman about my own age, took to smoking on the back porch, like my grandmother in my childhood before she quit a six-decade habit cold. She had very dark hair loose around her face, thin cheekbones and her skin a paler brown than it should have been, as if she had been sick for a long time; I remember her wearing a black blouse and a red skirt, stark as a character on a stage. "To be bought for sex isn't a shame," she told me. "To be bought for approval is a sin." I don't think we were speaking English. I thought afterward that I might have translated it endorsement, but then again she might have meant exactly the sense she used. It occurs to me now to wonder if they were refugees, but if so, no one talked about it. I don't remember them arriving. Maybe they were my subconscious' comment on local housing prices. It was obviously a dream because people weren't always fighting over who was taking up the bathroom.
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- 1: That fine girl of mine's on the Georgia Line
- 2: In those days, I still believed in the future
- 3: And even if I can't read it right, everything's a message
- 4: I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may
- 5: I don't like people to get the idea that I have to do this for a living
- 6: We only want the world to know that we support the status quo
- 7: How she'll greet me when she meets me when my ship gets in to port
- 8: Nothing very important
- 9: We rented a glass-bottom boat, we got farther from shore
- 10: Or the ocean's brine will turn to wine
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