I’ve had a near sleepless night. That happens from time to time when I’m worried about something or I have a head full of ideas. That happened last night. What sleep I did get was wonderful and full of a short dream in which I met Tom Waits.
I’ve never met Tom before and probably never will again; him being far away in America and a star and me being in Munich and not a star but last night, for what felt like an hour, I met him and can report that he is a lovely chap and we seemed to get on rather well.
As is often the case with dreams, it didn’t really have a beginning so, all of a sudden, I walk into an empty bar and see Tom playing a piano. I think he was playing “Martha”. He was smoking, which is naughty because you’re not allowed to do that in Munich but hey, this is Tom Waits, and if he wants to smoke in this bar then that’s fair enough thanks very much for asking. Now, I’m a little surprised that Tom is playing in this bar but he didn’t seem to surprised to see me and, squinting through his cigarrette smoke, waves to me and signals to the barkeeper to set me up with a drink.
It’s a bourbon.
He finishes playing and strolls over, throws a packet of Lucky Strikes onto my table and grabs a chair.
“Can’t you sleep?” he asks me.
Then we talked about Brecht, drank bourbon and smoked cigarrettes.
“You’re the reason I smoke Lucky Strikes”, I tell him.
“I know, Marcus, I know. Man, let’s go and rob a bank”.
Then I woke up. It was two thirty in the morning. It was the best dream I’ve ever had. That’s nearly four hours ago and I haven’t been able to go back to sleep.
I haven’t written anything for what feels like years but this morning, after my night with Tom Waits, it feels like the right time to start again.