streets of dreams

I have had a recurrent New York dream for the past 20 years. In it, I'm not there in flesh and blood: I'm more a bundle of perceptions and sensations. I'm inside the familiar dream bubble; all sound is magnified, as when your ear presses against the pillow. It's 4 A.M. between time zones. The pavement is damp, glowing yellow-pink from the street lamps. I'm in the weary, worn-down groaning part of town -- Crosby Street, Howard, Walker. The loading docks are waiting for the action to begin.

I'm definitely alone, but there's no urban anguish, no loneliness in my solitude. I am off the hook, luxuriously disembodied, hovering slyly above eye level. I'm out of reach. I swoop and skulk with impunity. The quiet is reverent. No event takes place.

Jeannie Hutchins, writer and performance artist, Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn

http://www.nytimes.com/1998/07/05/nyregion/streets-of-dreams-when-you-re-asleep-new-york-becomes-another-world.html?pagewanted=all&src=longreads