Thursday, July 03, 2008

Dallas at dawn

While it mostly fuels the insanity while awake, Bourbon, most recently, has taken to fueling the insanity of my mind while I sleep, too.

Crazy, vivid dreams are nothing new for the mentally deranged tour guide on this roller coaster of life. But dreaming about things, people and events as they happened from the past must mean the wheels have truly come off the apple cart this time.

We sought solace and comfort from the sideways rain and hurricane-style winds in our favorite bar and hunkered down for a storm. We covered our heads with Gin, Bourbon and the greasy details of life as they confronted us this past week.

When the drink finally took hold and put me down for the night, I was seemingly removed to a morning where I found myself again hiding in a bottle of Bourbon from that day's onslaught of news.

I don't remember when it happened, but it was within the last two years. I was saddling up to the airport bar deep in the heart of the Dallas-Love Airfield. At 8 a.m. the place was just coming to life and those select few were waiting for the first drink of the day to compliment their egg sandwiches and cereal.

Only the lonely and depraved drink at an airport bar this early in their travels.

Every television in the terminal was tuned to the morning news, which sought fit to air the hanging of the latest deposed dictator.

"This is going to be graphic so please look away," the made-up news doll said to 3.5 million people across the country that were preparing to ignore her request stare blankly at the scene before them.

The encore performance was to show the body being taken down from the wooden gallows and placed in a body bag; wrapped up like a present for whom ever was following in his footsteps. Madness everywhere and the Bloody Mary to my right and Screwdriver to my left did not even blink.

It didn't matter from my stool, though. My glass was empty and it was time for number three before I headed to my gate and boarded a plane.

I don't go through Dallas anymore. That leg of the trip was always the most interesting as it meant I had been drinking on a plane for two hours and now was preparing to drink for 70 more.

I don't drink in airports anymore, either. My experience in Dallas put an end to that habit. We have enough tempered glass and fake barrooms here in town to waste that much money drinking in a state of limbo — not quite in the city to be a tourist, not quite en route to claim it clams the nerves after takeoff or for landing.

Next week we stop in Detroit en route to New York. Let's hope this dream was not a warning of one more bad habit attempting to surface.

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