Monday, May 23, 2005

Squeegee terror 

In my dream, I've just pulled up at the traffic lights at Piazza della Radio. It is one of the busiest and worst designed intersections in town - from a single winding lane, the road rises steeply and suddenly fans out into six lanes with sidelanes feeding in on both sides just at the top of the peak. At rush hour it is also one of the longest waits for the lights to change and thus a prime spot for the windscreen cleaners to pounce.

In my dream, instead of the lone Rom or Bangladeshi, three young men in red and orange robes suddenly leap on my car armed with dripping squeegees. When I look to the left, there are more Tibetan monks moving in. In the rear-view mirror, I can see the two have become a seething mob pressing in on me.

My side window is open and one monk leans in saying, "Per favore, per favore!"

I shake my head and turn away just as another monk flicks his squeegee in my face.


I wake up rubbing my eyes frantically.

If I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me a horse.

[by Ria]

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