11 June 2006
Naples
Dreams: Jewellery Heist
Last night I dreamt in Italian for the first time (since last living in Naples anyway).
I’m with a group of kids, and we walk into a jewellery store except it’s more like a Tabaccaio (Tobacconist) store in Naples where you walk in the front door to a small open area directly in front of a counter with glass window. The proprietor stands behind the counter and he’s the only person who has access to the tobacco products, transport and lottery tickets, mobile phone recharge cards etc. After you pay he will slide the items under the glass panel, much like a bank teller.
I’m wearing my red cardigan and woolen gloves. The kids are between 8-15 years old and there are about 5 of them with me. We brazenly walk in. It’s empty of other customers. I tell the lady behind the counter to give me all of the money. We are not interested in the jewellery. I don’t have a gun or other weapon and don’t speak to her in a particularly threatening manner. The kids are standing beside me, or at the door watching out. Despite the fact that the glass panel should mean they can’t reach anything they do have access to some tubs of lollies on the counter. As the lady organizes I watch as some of the kids stuff their pockets with peppermints and take handfuls of Jaffas. I’m wondering why there are Jaffas in Naples (I’ve only ever seen them at home in Australia). The lady pushes the cash underneath the glass partition. As I turn to leave I tell her not to call the police. She assures me that she won’t, now looking a little afraid, explaining that “This is going to ruin us”. I fail to understand how robbing her of some cash and sweets is going to end the business.
We head down the street, it’s full of people and traffic all moving in the same direction, at about the same speed, like a tidal wave. Gi appears by my side. As we walk I start stripping off my red cardigan and gloves concerned that if she does report us to the police that I need to change my appearance so I don’t match the description she gives them. Gi pulls the wad of money from his pocket and waves it discreetly at me. I wonder why he’s carrying the cash when she just gave it to me, but instead ask him “Have you got it all? Didn’t you split it with the kids?’ The kids have all floated off into the crowd like fairies on the wind, satisfied with their haul of lollies.
Lying in the gutter against the curb is my old, old backpack, purple and green, from my first overseas trip to Europe. On top of it sits my new digital camera. I wonder how they came to be there, and why everyone is stepping around it, ignoring it. I stop to bend down and stuff my clothes into a small backpack when suddenly a guy on a bike almost rides over the top of me. It’s as though I’ve broken an unspoken rule by stopping in the middle of this moving mass of people, putting others at risk. The bike rider grimaces and grumbles, shaking his fist at me, before cycling around.
I don’t know where Gi and I are walking to, but we seem to be going in a particular direction, although it might just be because everyone else is going the same way.
I remember snippets of the dialogue in Italian, and where my Italian vocabulary is lacking it was by thought transfer with an Italian accent.
Naples
Dreams: Jewellery Heist
Last night I dreamt in Italian for the first time (since last living in Naples anyway).
I’m with a group of kids, and we walk into a jewellery store except it’s more like a Tabaccaio (Tobacconist) store in Naples where you walk in the front door to a small open area directly in front of a counter with glass window. The proprietor stands behind the counter and he’s the only person who has access to the tobacco products, transport and lottery tickets, mobile phone recharge cards etc. After you pay he will slide the items under the glass panel, much like a bank teller.
I’m wearing my red cardigan and woolen gloves. The kids are between 8-15 years old and there are about 5 of them with me. We brazenly walk in. It’s empty of other customers. I tell the lady behind the counter to give me all of the money. We are not interested in the jewellery. I don’t have a gun or other weapon and don’t speak to her in a particularly threatening manner. The kids are standing beside me, or at the door watching out. Despite the fact that the glass panel should mean they can’t reach anything they do have access to some tubs of lollies on the counter. As the lady organizes I watch as some of the kids stuff their pockets with peppermints and take handfuls of Jaffas. I’m wondering why there are Jaffas in Naples (I’ve only ever seen them at home in Australia). The lady pushes the cash underneath the glass partition. As I turn to leave I tell her not to call the police. She assures me that she won’t, now looking a little afraid, explaining that “This is going to ruin us”. I fail to understand how robbing her of some cash and sweets is going to end the business.
We head down the street, it’s full of people and traffic all moving in the same direction, at about the same speed, like a tidal wave. Gi appears by my side. As we walk I start stripping off my red cardigan and gloves concerned that if she does report us to the police that I need to change my appearance so I don’t match the description she gives them. Gi pulls the wad of money from his pocket and waves it discreetly at me. I wonder why he’s carrying the cash when she just gave it to me, but instead ask him “Have you got it all? Didn’t you split it with the kids?’ The kids have all floated off into the crowd like fairies on the wind, satisfied with their haul of lollies.
Lying in the gutter against the curb is my old, old backpack, purple and green, from my first overseas trip to Europe. On top of it sits my new digital camera. I wonder how they came to be there, and why everyone is stepping around it, ignoring it. I stop to bend down and stuff my clothes into a small backpack when suddenly a guy on a bike almost rides over the top of me. It’s as though I’ve broken an unspoken rule by stopping in the middle of this moving mass of people, putting others at risk. The bike rider grimaces and grumbles, shaking his fist at me, before cycling around.
I don’t know where Gi and I are walking to, but we seem to be going in a particular direction, although it might just be because everyone else is going the same way.
I remember snippets of the dialogue in Italian, and where my Italian vocabulary is lacking it was by thought transfer with an Italian accent.
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