Bruce had gone to live with the love of his life, a gypsy woman who lived on the side of a blue hill, with craggy fissures like the folds in an elephant's skin and horizontal white, calcified striations that looked like something out of the painted desert only it was in middle of nowhere. And blue. Anyway...
Dad was in trouble and Bruce, with long hair and a beard like Tom Hanks in Castaway, swung down from the hill on a vine, to the distress of his gypsy love.
But dad had moved in to town to grow old, signified by the growing accumulation of coolers and barbecues on the concrete patio beside his house.
Left in the sun, the coolers had become became misshapen and started to take on cartoon-like faces, signifying irony and the time for me to wake up.
Which I am now.
Oh, and here's another picture of a bridge.
*if this dream stuff keeps going on I may have to start another blog