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Pinot Noir, Soccer, Iowa Friends

last thing i remember is, i was sitting around a table of mostly middle aged women, possibly in italy, drinking wine. they were all much more experienced with wine and i admitted that although I could tell that what we were drinking was a very fine pinot, i could not describe it, plus my palate was not highly tuned to understand the difference between the cheap swill i was used to drinking and this fine stuff, which had been given to us by I dont know who, possibly a tour guide that we were with.

I got up from the table for a second to bum a smoke from someone, and when i sat back down, yasir and ahmed were there with their long bony knees where i had been sitting. I scooted myself back into place (basically between their knees). They didnt mind. On top of the table now was another tall black man standing witha microphone. I did not know him, but he was speaking of a success that had taken place. He had begun by turning in the opposite direction of the sun, to a smaller portion of the crowd, but one he had been more comfortable with. Some chairs got moved around, and he eventually turned around to face the light and the majority of people, and there was a noticeable communal approval that this was the best way for him to be addressing the crowd.

earlier, I had been in a field that resembled Walton school's playground (only bigger, as it usually is in dreams), playing soccer - more like just kicking the ball around - with ramarti, yasir, maybe regina. i was decent at it, more or less the same as in real life, always trying to get some lift from it.