And for those who choose to break the law, there’s prison. Prison. We’ve discussed these things in the past, fact and fiction, crime without shame, at home and for profit. And what will my tomorrow bring? Tell me—tell me, can you interpret dreams?
Dreams?
The world’s woe is everybody’s problem.
What did you say about dreams?
We dream our dreams, while we sit in prison. And Joe interprets them. We will not say it shall not be, this passing of order and order’s coming, but in prison and the land around the River Nile as in that country of Pharaohs we look for a way out of our dilemma. Thada boy, Joe.
Dr. Martin Luther King, JR had a dream.
What was that? Behold, a vine was before me: and in the vine were three branches: and it was as though it budded, and her blossoms shot forth; and the clusters thereof brought forth ripe grapes: and Pharaoh’s cup was in my hand: and I took the grapes, and pressed them into Pharaoh’s hand, and I give the cup into Pharaoh’s hand. What’s the meaning of that? Swallow hard before you answer.
Israel shall grow, shall flourish. And there will be seven years of famine throughout the land.
Well, so be it.
Joe is a mere gatekeeper of the peace, a poor lost waste-hater of the first degree. He is now an ever-devoted friend of the Pharaoh. I take my hat off to him.
Musically: A song of busyness and preparation. A mocked gurgle, a swig of something cool. Leaving an oasis, music that gives the impression of a long journey across a desert. A song of perspiration and depressing heat. Dizziness and desperation join with the whirl of a dust devil to give the impression of impending doom.
Hurry up! No more jogging along as if in a dream. There isn’t time. I’m tired of having to nudge you along.
You’re right. As long as Joe continues to shape his changeable timetable, there’s no time to rest. Joe coordinates a massive effort to store sacks of corn or wheat for a predicted disaster. Arrayed in vestures of fine linen, Joe wears flashy rings and a gold chain about his neck.
Randy Ford
