Driving in a car with Meredith Scheff. Swiftly and unexpectedly, a very large, very artful and futuristic airliner streaks across the overcast sky from bottom left to top right. It’s a great green and white monstrosity of ostentation, made to look like several Berlin row houses, streamlined uncannily, an old oceanliner-style smokestack near the rear, a quiet yet furiously powerful engine glowing smoothly among curvaceously flow-y tailfins. Such a sight! Meredith wasn’t looking up and I excitedly chanted her name, but I can’t say if she actually saw the damn thing.
Other dreams from the night explored a forgotten side of Berlin’s history, when the north and south sides split along religious lines with one area being called Lodz — like the Polish city or the character in Carnivale.
