The place is empty.   All the Friday night revelers have gone home.   It's only me, Carmelo in the kitchen, Louise, and Rochelle.   I feel very comfortable here.   No hurry to do anything.

The satellite feed's playing Frank Sinatra, and I have to say that the cut's perfect for this atmosphere.   "One For My Baby'.   Is Rochelle Peyton my personal bartender?   Hmmm.   It would seem I'm her personal masseur, if you've been following the narrative.   I would like to think that we are each other's personal oak trees.   We lean on each other, in ways we can't seem to do with our own Significant Others in life.

"I had these really awful dreams last night," I say, cutting into my Happy Waitress.   The Happy Waitress differs slightly from diner to diner in the Garden State; at the Palmetto, it's an open faced grilled cheese, bacon, and tomato sandwich, on square white (the local brand in the supermarkets would be Stroehmann's King), with a side of fries and a little paper cup of cole slaw.   With a Coke or Pepsi- leaded or unleaded, of course- it's a great combination.   I prefer my Coke unleaded.
"What were they about?"
I catch my breath a bit.
"That bad?"
"That scary.   Someone in my life, and I'm too scared to even say who, gets cancer and dies, just after one of his very young children dies.   Just a random choice of people in my life.   He's not even sick, and he's not a friend, by any means-"
"Someone at your job?"
"Yes.   It's like, completely at random."   At this moment, the sound of Frank overhead has been drowned out by the sound of Louise, who's parked at the cash register, snoring away.   Her snoring resounds at the decibel level of a John Deere rider mower.   The tinkly piano accompaniment of the aforementioned song would never have stood a chance, but now, even the Nelson Riddle Orchestra's having a hard time overcoming her.   "Look, I know that dreams like this are common, but, it's got me spooked."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, my dreams are just as messed up as yours."
"Good.   That does make me feel better.   I've had some wild and wooly dreams.   Back when I was a kid, I had a dream where I was having sex with my boss.   A balding, sixty-year-old man.  I woke up in a cold sweat and felt like throwing up."
"Yeah, that'll do it.   What do you usually dream about, though?"
"There are themes.   Mostly fear and uncertainty.   I used to think it was amazing, how I'd always have dreams where I was in my elementary or high school, walking around either naked, or only in a pair of skivs.   I found out later that everyone has that one."
"I never had it.   What does it mean?"
I dip one of the steak fries on my plate in some ketchup.   Frank is now plowing through what I think might be one of the Jobim Brazilian jazz tracks.   "I think it means that while you think you're hiding things from everyone in your environment, everyone's on to what you are."
"You're right.   Makes perfect sense!"
"Many of the dreams that I remember are like this...I'm traveling in a strange place, a place that's surrounded by big bodies of water.   It is usually a big city, but none that I really recognize.   There are rarely other people around.   Usually, I'm trying to get someplace, while trying to avoid the water.   It's the water that's the bogeyman, the bad guy.   Always."
"It symbolizes death."
"Yep.   Water's supposed to be the staff of life, but in my dreams, it's supposed to be either death, or my other deepest fears, whatever they might be.   I really don't know."
"My dreams are kind of like that, too.   They're similar."
"You know, other ones that I remember are actually like movies."
"I believe that, too."
"It's like in the dream, I'm sitting there, watching a movie, that's how they run.   People speak to each other-"
"Betcha that's because you have a creative mind."
I'm momentarily halted in my tracks.   "You know, that sounds...plausible.   It's like a movie.   Sexual scenarios.   Dramatic scenarios."
"Yeah, betcha that's what it is."   Hey there, cutes, put on ya Basie boots, and...come dance with me!   "You being creative.   You starring in those sexual scenes?"
"That's the strangest thing!   It's like I'm watching the movie.   I'm seeing two, or three, or five people, and the scene becomes a sex scene.   I'm not involved.   That might mean something, too."
"Yeah.   You don't have to be Einstein to figure that out, I guess.   Life becoming boring for you?"
I think about it.   "I really don't know.   But, I guess the dreams hold all the keys for anyone who wants knowledge, right?"
"Yep."  Rochelle retrieves the urn, and pours more coffee for me.   I notice that the last of the Sweet 'n Low packets has departed; I ask Rochelle for more.   She brings it over, but rather than give them to me, she asks, "how many?"
"Two."
She tears them open, and pours them in my coffee.   When she's done, she stirs it with the tea spoon sitting on the side of the saucer.   She's eyeing me in an almost flirtatious fashion.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome.   How's school?"
"Great.   I've only had twenty-four hours of instruction, and now I think I can give someone a competent full body Swedish massage and be confident that they'll get up feeling good, which is what it's all about, isn't it?"
"Twenty-four hours?"
"Yep.   And, nine tenths of it lab work.   Hands on."
Rochelle looks at me.   "And, how long are you gonna be going to school for?"
"it's nine hundred hours, a year and a half.   It's my ticket to a better world."
"Well, my feet are talkin' to me riiiiiiiiiight now.   They're sayin' you already in a better world."
"Oh, stop it.   It is, though, like me turning a page and starting a new chapter.   The old chapter's already old as hell."
Rochelle helps herself to one of my steak fries.   "I know what you mean.   Very well."