My friend B and I are sitting in his gray Mazda pickup truck in the parking lot of my old apartment building in northeast Portland.  The two of us are getting ready to go somewhere.  It’s twilight; the sun has gone down, and the sky is still light, but it’s quickly darkening and a few bright stars are clearly visible.

He turns and looks out the rear window at the bed of his truck, and at the smallish grassy area just beyond the parking lot, on the edge of the hillside.  “I wish those guys wouldn’t do that,” B says.  “I wish they wouldn’t leave their outdoor gas burners on all night.  I’ve talked to them about it before, but they keep doing it.”  I turn and look then.  The back of his truck is completely blackened and burned away, and the tailgate is missing.  He always backs into the parking spot, because the front of the truck is where the engine is, thereby making the front much more important, and it probably won’t run anymore if it gets burned the way the back of the truck is.

“Look,” I say, facing to our left and pointing in the direction of downtown.  “Look at all the buildings that are on fire.”

“You’ve never said that before,” he says.

“I know,” I say, nonchalantly.  “I thought maybe I had, but then I realized I hadn’t.”  We look at the burning buildings, multiple blocks apart from each other, from downtown clear out to my neighborhood, all burning in the same way.  I point out the buildings and count them.  “How many are there?  Let’s see. . .three. . .four. . .five. . .six?  It looks like they’re all along Broadway [Street].”

Suddenly I notice some flames flickering at the tops of the bamboo trees next to the parking lot, and the little sandwich board sign advertising ‘apartment for rent’ is burning too.  “Look at that!” I say.  “It’s getting closer now.  We should tell somebody about this.”

We sit in silence and watch the flames for an incredibly uncomfortable amount of time.

* * * * *

My alarm clock went off just then, and I almost had a heart attack.

While writing this, I was struck by the way we decided, ‘We should tell somebody about this,’ and then just sat and watched for such a long time.  It had an almost Waiting-For-Godot aspect about it; in fact the entire dream sorta did.

VLADIMIR:  We can still part, if you think it would be better.

ESTRAGON:   It’s not worthwhile now.
Silence.

VLADIMIR:   No, it’s not worthwhile now.
Silence.

ESTRAGON:   Well, shall we go?

VLADIMIR:   Yes, let’s go.
They do not move.