I had trouble following and now remembering the narrative of this one. It involved Toronto, a Toronto much larger than reality, infinite with possibilities and travel. Marilyn Monroe visited, something to do with the Royal York Hotel, then it was present day and photos of that visit were found under the upholstery of a subway seat. They were glam but she was crying.
I became stranded in the east end with no money and I couldn't find my bank card. I walked west and picked up people along the way. Street people, artists, a former cop. I was in charge of leading everyone home. It was dark. We went to a car dealership and the sole employee took us to an inner service shop; once we were inside the entire shop detached from the building and flew to a more congested downtown area, though still east. We resumed walking. Tried to go to a submarine shop to rest but we kept getting kicked out because we had no money.
Busses came by frequently and we would often try to get on but would always be refused or kicked off.
I had an opportunity to make money by doing a session with a guy, so I went back east. Did him and then he wanted a regular session but wanted a duo with the former cop. The cop agreed so I tried to find out what the client preferred to do with guys. I thought that if I just did one or two regulars every month I could live on disability.
Eventually I found my bank card but before I'd regrouped and found a bus I woke up.
***
I'm trying to find my home - west - and trying to help others find theirs too.
Marilyn Monroe crying is still beautiful.
There's a poem in this one. I might even be in a poetic mood, too.
