i had a dream, not like martin had a dream, no, mine was distinctly less profound

i was sitting on an old couch with torn cushions and cigarette burns

and hank was there with a bottle of beer hammering away on the typewriter and cursing the horses that always came up lame

an overflowing ashtray sat between us

his socks had holes in them with his toes poking out and he wailed away about redheads and poor tips at the track

there was a knock on the door and he screamed he wasn’t home

the landlady come for rent or another groupie hoping for a night with the great poet

i went to the door and saw hunter standing in an unbuttoned hawaiian shirt and stained khakis

his plastic cigarette holder squeezed between thin white lips, a brief case and a mixed drink with clinking ice

i opened it up and he came storming in raving about the corrupt pigs in washington and i saw hank roll his eyes before coughing up red into a tissue on the table

the brief case popped open and lines were cut on the table while the keys clickity clacked

they complained of politics and women and politicians and life and sports and artists and the american dream and how it was one big mess and lawyers and more about women and so on and so on and so on

outside a chorus of whores called out as the landlady banged on the door and the phone rang and strauss played tinily out of the radio in the bedroom

hank complained about everyone complaining about how he only had one book out and their accusations he had lost it

hunter about his editor sending goons to rough him up for missing a deadline and loading a hand cannon with shaking hands

and me watching two forces of nature curse and bemoan the world they loved and not meaning any of it

and hank kept coughing and looking gray

and hunter had a shotgun

and hank slumped over his typewriter while hunter aimed the goddamn gun at himself

and i sat watching knowing what was happening and trying to memorize every detail and hoping like hell that i would wake up before he squeezed the trigger or took his last breath

and hank looked up and smiled and hunter looked over and smiled and both looked at each other and smiled

then hunter pulled the trigger and hank closed his eyes and the phone kept ringing and the landlady kept pounding on the door and i wanted to wake up

and the door opened up and in walked ernie and sam and they helped hunter up and grabbed hank and together the four of them staggered toward the door

i watched them walk out of the room through the door and into the light that suffused the hallway

and the phone stopped ringing

and the landlady stopped banging

and the whores outside grew silent

but still the typewriter clanged and clattered and the smoke filled the room and the glasses still beaded with sweat and the horses still ran and the politicians were still crooked and sports still played and the redhead climbed into bed with another in a string of men and deadlines were missed and the bulls still ran and the bullfrogs still hopped and the world kept turning

maybe a little less gracefully for my taste

maybe the wind seemed a little more mournful

the currents of the rivers a little less strong

and i just sat there hoping that they would come back and i could listen to them some more but they never did and eventually i woke up feeling more tired than when i had gone to bed in the first place

i had a dream

it wasn’t prophetic and profound like martin’s was

but it was mine