Bombadill dreamed he was wearing a trench coat with a fedora, and his wife was giving him a hard time about it. Perhaps it was because of something he ate, or some slight reference to Casablanca during the day that he had that particular dream. Or perhaps it was because in the woken world, he did indeed own a trench coat and fedora, and he was married to a wife who liked neither. She did like Casablanca however. He would point out guys in old movies wearing trench coats and say how cool they looked. Invariably his wife would rejoin: “Yeah, eighty years ago!”
Bombadill woke and got ready for work. The weather guessers predicted intermittent light showers so he grabbed his trusty trench-coat. The standard uniform of guys in raincoats in Boston is a baseball cap of some sort. No fedoras. Consequently, he donned a Kenmore Air cap, as a nod to the rainy city on the other end of U.S. Route 90, and headed out to catch the train to work.
It was another tired Monday after a poor Sunday night’s sleep. He walked to the commuter rail in a daze and in real fog. Tired and exhausted, his thoughts were clouded and he had the painful sense of time passing with excruciating slowness. The psychic membrane between dream world and waking wasn’t clear to his exhausted, foggy mind.
He stood on the platform in his trench-coat, waiting for the train, not quite sure if wasn’t still dreaming. Hello Monday!
copyright 2017 Christopher Donahue