Autumn in Grozny/Grozny in Autumn

Recently I dreamed that I was in Grozny on a sunny autumn afternoon.   Don’t ask how I knew it was Grozny, or autumn, or afternoon.   In dreams, these things just are, and ‘how’ or ‘why’ just don’t apply.   I was in a bank, exchanging a pair of 10 [unit] financial instruments of some kind (again, don’t ask) for two medium-sized manila envelopes filled with worn, rolled-up $1 bills.   As I left the bank, I was aware of the need to avoid the attention of a crew of shabbily-dressed “watchers” who were positioned on various sidewalks and street corners.  So I started walking around town.

In Russian "Grozny" means "fearsome," "menacing," or "terrible."

In the sort of inverse flash that sometimes characterizes the dreamtime, sunny afternoon changed to sleety, wintry evening.  The streets were covered with a thin rime of slush, sand and ice, and the dim headlights of ancient cars crept slowly through the gloom as I struggled across the slippery pavement to sidewalks on the other side.  The “watchers” were still following, so I kept moving.

Warm, sunny afternoon returned without warning as I continued my trek through sheds, outbuildings, ruined factories and the green-tiled roofs of houses on the outskirts of town.  The “watchers” were now more numerous, more vocal, and more obviously looking specifically for me (I could understand their language).   Luckily, by this time I had figured out that I was invisible to them.

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