Paul Madonna - On to the Next Dream

IMAGINE YOURE ON an airplane. Its a long flight.
International, crossing an ocean. It can be to any where,
you decide. Pick someplace good. A place you love, or
have always dreamed of seeing. Youve already boarded,
stowed your luggage, fastened your seatbelt, and
suffered the safety video. The plane has taken off and
the cabin lights have dimmed. Maybe youve read a few
pages of a novel, or maybe youve dialed up a movie, but
either way, youve settled in and fallen asleep.

Now everything is shaking. You open your eyes to see
a stewardess with her hand on your shoulder. Excuse
me, she is saying. Her eyes are intense and hard.

Is there a problem? you ask. Groggy, confused, you
lurch forward and look around. Rows of your fellow
passengers are sitting peacefully. Most with blankets
tucked up to their chins. In the aisle there appears to
be an especially long line for the restrooms, but that
doesnt seem worthy of concern.

I said excuse me! the stewardess says again, and

PAUL MADONNA 1

this time she grabs a fistful of your shirt. You need
to get up.

What? you ask. Why? But she has already unbuckled
your seat belt and is pulling you to your feet. She is
remarkably strong.

You need to go, the stewardess says, and as she tugs
you into the aisle a new passenger slides into your
seat. Without a word this person kicks off their shoes,
reaches into the seatback compartment, takes out the
book you had started reading, and settles in.

This makes you angry but when you turn to give
the stewardess a piece of your mind she shoves you
hard and you go stumbling down the aisle. You try to
regroup but she keeps shoving you until youre at the
front of the plane where another stewardess is turning
the handle to the door. You want to scream, Wait! But
then the door opens and a blast of cold air rushes in.
Shockingly, you find you can still breathe, and even
more shockingly, no one else on the plane seems to
care. The guy sitting right there in the emergency exit
row, he just pulls his blanket a little tighter and slides
the courtesy sleeping mask over his eyes.

2ON TO THE NEXT DREAM

PAUL MADONNA3

Please, the stewardess says. Dont make this any
harder than it needs to be. And she motions to the
open door. Outside you see only blackness. Maybe some
white-grey clouds far below, but otherwise, nothing.
The stewardess, frustrated by your unwillingness
to move, rolls her eyes, as if every second of your
continued unwanted presence is an egregious and
personally offensive violation of not just mans law, but
Gods as well. Seeing that youre one of those entitled
types who wont go without a reason, though, she takes
a deep breath and says, The market has changed. We
can now charge five times what youre paying for your
seat. Which means you have to get out.

But its mid-flight, you say. And Ive already paid for
my ticket.

You were only renting, she says. And we own. This
is just the way things are. And she pushes you out
the door.

Copyright 2017 by Paul Madonna
All Rights Reserved

Book design by Alvaro Villanueva
Printed in Hong Kong

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Portions of this book originally appeared in the San Francisco
Chronicle , on SFGate.com, BrokeAssStuart.com, and theRumpus.
net, between June 2015 and December 2015.

Thanks to my wife Joen Madonna, and to Kate and Scott Murphy,
who read countless drafts of these chapters, often late at night, on
short notice, hours before going to print.

Thanks also to Elaine Katzenberger, Colleen Newvine Tebeau,
and to all the readers of All Over Coffee, who enabled a dream
to come true.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data (on file)

Visit our website: www.citylights.com

City Lights Books are published at the City Lights Bookstore,
261 Columbus Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94133

I WAS SITTING in a caf, because thats something
I like to do, eating an egg sandwich and reading a noir
detective novel on my iPad. It was a Tuesday, mid
afternoon, and having just gotten a haircut I was looking
about as respectable as I can get. A woman sat down at
the table to my left and began muttering to herself. Out
of the corner of my eye I could see her glancing my way,
and when I made the mistake of turning my head she
barked, Usurper.

I looked at her and blinked.

You think you can just waltz into this city and do
whatever you want, she said. She was about my age,
early to mid-forties, and looked like someone I might
know. But just because you type a few ones and zeros
into a computer doesnt mean you have the right to jack
up my rent and throw me onto the street. Tell me, what
do you think this place will be like after youve driven
out all the people who make it great?

To my right I heard laughing and turned to see two

8ON TO THE NEXT DREAM

young guys in gym shorts, hoodies, and flip-flops watching
us. When I met their eyes they buried their faces into
their phones.

I tried to return to my buddy Philip Marlowe. He had
a murder to solve and had just gotten sapped by a
crooked cop. But with eye-daggers of self-righteousness
shooting at me from one side and sniggers of entitlement
from the other, I couldnt focus, so I got my coffee to go
and left.

Outside, a pair of men dressed in identical picnic-table
plaid shirts were pointing at the building. Lets just tear
it down, one said. Then we can do whatever we want.

I had to step into the gutter to get around them. A car
alarm screamed so I dove back onto the sidewalk only
to have a toothless man ram me with a shopping cart
and tell me Im in the way.

PAUL MADONNA9