The dream begins: I'm in a big SUV Chevy Suburban thing. Me and some other guys are driving down the street, I'm in the back, looking out at the neighborhood. Old mud-walled huts, arabic women, children, men, walking up and down, seemingly oblivious to our presence. The SUV winds it's way through the narrow streets until it comes to the entrance to a freeway on-ramp, then we accelerate upwards onto the freeway, as empty as if a vehicle has never driven on it.

We're on our way out of Baghdad, heading south to the airfield. About halfway there we pull off underneath an overpass and all get out, and that's when I get a good luck at everyone else. We all wear the same khaki-colored outfit, all have on the same black bullet-proof vests and all wear sunglasses. Weird. But then, it's just a dream.
Me and the other guys are pulled off because this is the location of a particularly brutal firefight when we first came in here, and now it's quiet. Somewhat. All of us feel apprehension on being here and look around carefully, concerned about an ambush. While I wander off, the other guys walk over to one of the concrete piers under the overpass and study blast damage from the battle that took place there.

I look off to one side at a grassy field behind a chain link fence, bushes widely spaced and cut to prevent anyone hiding behind them. I look off in the distance to see if anyone is out there and thankfully see no one. I turn back and everyone gets back in the SUV and we make our way to the airport, and out of Iraq.

The next part of the dream begins with me returning to the city, alone.

I walk through the city, aware of how dangerous it is here. I look up and down the street, checking to see if I'm being watched by anyone. Looking at the shops I see a cafe' and remember some report I've read about these being used as fronts for houses of prostitution. Outside there are some black guys with dreadlocks speaking jamaican slang. I remember from the report that many american blacks came back here to re-settle and took up organized crime here. I enter the store just as a customer goes upstairs, some white guy being pushed up the stairs by one of the proprieters who is telling him about how great the girl is he's about to meet, sight unseen. I get the feeling the 'customer' is about to be knocked over the head and have his wallet stolen.

I walk out of the shop and down the street, coming to a roofed bazaar, hot, dusty, with a large wood multi-leveled dias in the middle. At a desk at the top is a disinterested attendant, a 'tourist information' desk attendant. I have to climb up and swing around to get to the clerk's window, the paint worn off the wood, smoothed down over the years from wear. I look to either side of the booth for anything like maps of the area, something to tell me where all the attractions are. I particularly want to see the Baghdad Museum. The clerk perks up when I mention this, then points off diagonally and says it's two blocks 'that way'.

I am near the Tigris river, turning around to look at the buildings, some modern, some perhaps thousands of years old, all looking worn from to much neglect. Reminds me of Morocco. I take out my camera, wanting to take a picture, something that will make the viewer think that they are looking at just any other city until they spot . . . . that black grating a couple of blocks down the street on the left with the islamic filigree. That would make a nice shot. And off in the distance beyond that the freeway cutting through the city, with a hump just in the middle there. So I set up my shot when I am interupted by a man, close to my age who has a child by his side. He asks for money, anything I can spare for him and his child.

I look around, still concerned about the possibility I might be jumped here and think about being captured and taken away to be held hostage, possibly to be beheaded. It still happens here, I think to myself. It could happen to me.
I put down my daypack and kneel down to dig inside. As I am rooting around I look up again and about six feet away three men have appeared, scowling down at me, all with moustaches, one wearing a tacky burnt-orange suit. I get the impression he's the ringleader. I bring out a traveler's check for $20.00, but as I pull it out it tears and I have to get another one which tears as well. Finally I just write the man a check for $20.00 and put everything back in my pack and walk off, closer to the river.

Nearby is a stable area, two-tiered that resembles an ugly concrete parking garage. I come around the corner and there are more surly looking men, tacky suits, moustaches, malevolent expressions. I turn and go up a ramp into the stable and as I round the corner I see the horses, many of them, all packed close together, saddled and with riders on them, the same type of surly men I have seen before. I turn and move back down the ramp and as I reach the ground I hear a shout and the horses begin galloping around the corner and down the ramp. The dream ends.

Blogger is really pissing me off. It seems to take forever and a frickin' day to post to the net. Even with a really good wi-fi connection. Even from a desktop with a hard-wired connection. Really pretty pathetic. As soon as I get a job I'm moving everything off this piece-o-crap to something better.

It would be one thing if this was just temporary, but I remember when blogger first started it would have this problem, then 'Life During Wartime' took a long vacation, I came back and started posting again, and gee. . . a year later, still same frikin' problem.

Thursday at Cafe Allegro

I got a call yesterday from Safeco re a third interview. It's down to me and one other candidate. Whoopee. Notice no exclamation mark on the end of that last one. If I pass muster, they still have to do the 'background check', which means that they find my ugly credit history that makes me look like Osama Bin Laden trying to get a job at the Defense department. What the hell expect with today's economy anyway? "Oh yeah, you should just pull money out of your ass to pay your bills, even though you have no employment insurance and no savings and friends and relatives who are in the same terrible economic situation you are." What absolute and utter crap.

Today I'm taking some time off from job-hunting and camping by the phone all day while waiting for callbacks. Just too much stress, waiting for the phone to ring, searching my e-mail almost constantly looking for responses from jobs I've posted for. Too much friggin' stress.

So, after a short visit to Cafe Allegro I'm off to explore some of the neighborhoods around Seattle and do some photography.