Last night I dreamt that I returned home from Asia and came straight from the airport to your hotel room downtown
Last night I dreamt that I returned home from Asia and came straight from the airport to your hotel room downtown. You were there with your husband. You both looked young and happy. There was an easy-going, contended familiarity between you. I talked to your husband mainly and he spoke mainly about you — warmly and tenderly: it was clear he was in love. Later, the three of us strolled through the city, stopping at fountains and old jewelry shops and then we climbed up to my quarter. There was a street fiesta in progress, a saint this or that, all restaurants were full, there were crowds in the streets, people grilling fish out and dancing on the cobble-stones. We climbed the stairs up to my apartment, my door stood wide ajar, there was a crowd of revelers inside, people I have never seen were throwing back the contents of my wine cellar, blasting music on the sound system, kissing in the corridor, and no one minded us at all. We climbed to the second story, where the panoramic windows are. They had been thrown wide open. The breeze blowing off the sea struck us in the face. For a long time the three of us stood there in silence, looking at the city below and out towards the sea.
Notes on The Cultured Life 
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