I dreamed. I saw this on the cusp of waking today.

An old friend and I raced each other on the street. We had the greatest of fun, pure joy on account of the competition, the sensation, the rush of being “in the game.” To disclose the truth of who won, who lost, – I lost every time, yet losing (or winning) had nothing whatsoever to do with the fun. We laughed together.

In my dream I drove an Oldsmobile Rocket 88. The Olds was no match for a newer, and more powerful Hemi Dodge. The Dodge piloted by my friend had the advantage every time. But no matter, – a “yes” to the machine, and to aroma of gasoline and oil and burnt rubber, a scream of launch. Moments of time that were outside of time, that I cannot forget.

That was my dream.

My old friend Chuck is passing. A polite term for dying. He wishes to die in peace. And I will miss him.

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Time enough for a song, something to hold onto. Tears come when I listen to this one.

Racing In The Street by Bruce Springsteen.

*The Rocket 88 was considered the first muscle car. It was last produced in 1958.