At the Airport with No Shoes (a dream)

I’m scrounging for change, picking up quarters in the parking lot of an abandoned video store in this town where the air smells like a smoldering cigar. 

I’m at the airport with no shoes. 

I’m attending a birthday party for dreadlocked children I don’t know. I’m greeted by a woman I never knew. 

You spray me in the face with a can of mace after I apologize. You embrace me and kiss me on the lips, but I know that this, even this, is another of your lies. 

I’m making mistakes- simple mistakes- so I’m retracing my steps to correct what I’ve done. 

I’m at the airport with no shoes.