Tonight, last night, and Elsewhere

Tonight there were people at the bar. You know how they're always laughing and drinking. Someone must have given them a script. I saw their jackets buttoned all tightly, they were introduced to me for the fifth time. Sorry I'm not good with names.

Anyway, that was just tonight.

Last night I dreamed of tiny babies, so tiny that they could fit into eggshells.

In my dreams the babies were kept in little plastic egg-shaped pods, stored in decrepid wooden bird houses outside this tiny little cabin of a hospital in the woods. The paint is peeling off the wood. Every now and then I open up the pods up to inject various chemicals into the solution that the babies are bathed in. There were twins that I had placed in a single pod, so that they could be together. They have little weak cries that sound like mice squeaking.

The bird houses were kept near a sink so people kept jostling the babies and sloshing dish water into their little pods and I kept trying to clean the whole mess up.

Elsewhere, in reality, the police were called to investigate a loud party in a hotel room in Montreal. A few Inuit families had come down from Inuvik for the weekend. The police entered the room and saw crack, booze, and two little Inuit boys on the floor surrounded by open Tylenol bottles. The oldest one had an ear infection.