I often dream of a girl standing before a dingy marquee on a cold city street. We're alone.
She has long, dark hair and I've never seen her before in waking life. I always appear rather bedraggled in these dreams, but she's always neat and lovely. We're wearing coats--she's wearing boots of some kind--usually the kind with the heels. We stand there before the theater and neither of us speak. I don't really know why. Eventually, an old-fashioned cab...