It was an epidemic in my dream. The country was awash with sufferers. Anyone who had the anti-American illness had a low-grade fever, headaches, and bad feelings about the land.
My physician-cousin Gene was assigned to the dispensary in cambridge, ny. he drove by me but told me he didn’t have time to stop to administer the antidote to me and i would have to go to the u.n. to get my dose.
The U.N. finally took me to the unfinished roof where the dispensary located its offices. The waiting room took up the whole roof and the workmen were just going home from roofing. The medical staff was still in place, coming out every now and then from behind closed doors to issue a vial of pills to the lucky one who didn’t have towait any more.
Meanwhile, all weapons had to be left aat the door and I watched one creepy man reach into his boot sheathe to divest himself of a wicked-looking dagger and throw it on the roof floor, underneath the open sky, where it skittered to a stop in a pile of weapons.,
Finally, I got my phial and went back to cambridge. I met my deceased mother and asked her if my cousin Gene had dispensed to her the anti-American illness antidote and she reminded me that she hadn’t been to cambridge in a long time.
She had lived outside the usa for such a long time that she hadn’t contracted the illness.
End of Story.