03::05::01

Last night i dreamt of a prince.
I was at some art exhibition, of which there is nothing i remember
aside from the whiteness of it all - that is i can't remember if there
were any works on the wall or if the whiteness itself was the
exhibition. Needless to say there were lots of people there and it was
oh so fabulous. And that's where i met him.
Prince was a lot shorter in person than i thought he'd be. I wasn't
entirely surprised but i kept thinking that the amusement i felt at
looking at his diminutive form was betrayed in the smirk that wouldn't
stop from creeping up on me. We exchanged pleasentries and i thought it
was kind of cool to be seen talking to him, even if i'm not really a
fan of his work. The next day i'm walking down a street in
Darlinghurst, Sydney, even though the scene of the dream is supposedly
in London and a car beeps it's horn and who is it waving frantically at
me, but Prince. Again, i thought this kind of cool, even though no one
saw or would really recognsie him behind his big shades anyway and i
thought him to be quite a genuine fellow, to wave like that at a guy
who he has only met once - i mean; this is prince, he must have heaps
of friends.
Time passes and i'm going for my lunchtime coffee at the same cafe i
always have my lunchtime coffee at even though more often than not they
curdle the soy (a practice i suspect they do on purpose since all i
ever have is a coffee and it's their way of quietly trying to shoe me
out of their cafe but because i suspect this, i stubbornly refuse to be
budged) - the organic one off Marylebone High Street in London and
again, Prince waves to me from the car. He looks rather excited to see
me and signals that he will park the car by circling his index finger
in a whirlpool motion. As you do. He parks his car, a white porsche
right outside the large windows of the cafe, that take all the
afternoon sun, where i sit and have my lunchtime coffee every working
day. He bounds up to me in his petite dainty way and pats me on the
back and asks me what i'm up to. I hesitate to tell him i'm going for
my coffee because i really don't want to be disturbed, let alone walk
into the cafe with Prince by my side. But i do, and he does invite
himself along with me, and even though i knew i shouldn't feel
embarrassed, the knowing looks the waitresses gave me, his impossibly
high voice, his loud camp laughter and his purple frilly shirt were too
much and i sat hunched over my coffee wishing it all away.