Secret Pilot

A dream.

I’m the pilot of a small flying craft, seemingly one of many of these small, high-speed planes.

I take off and fly toward a city filled with silver skyscrapers — a solid wall of buildings glittering in the sun. As I approach the skyscrapers, unable to pull up, I fly straight into them and somehow pass through them.

I pull back on the controls and streak above the buildings at supersonic speed! Exhilarated, I disappear into clouds.

Later I land on a city street. My plane is now a sort of red sleeping bag tied to me. An English couple in a small sports car spots me and accuses me: “You’re one of those secret pilots!”

I’m sitting on a sidewalk in front of an Episcopal church. A priest comes out and defends me against the English couple.