I can look down the street and just see the main worksite. It's along a road like that of my old home town, only extended for blocks (my town only had a square). It is nearly noon, and I must leave the satelite office then for the main one.
Gene comes in. He's my sub. He'll handle it for me. No, he won't. He's apologetic. He cannot work today. So sorry.
I look about. There are two "volunteers" lounging around. Okay, they'll have to do. I leave it with them.
I proceed down the road. The main office is near the river, and I see the river is in flood. It is a quiet flood, but wide. I cannot reach the office. I am on Front Street, and thinking, we are in the time just before panic. Someone walks along a levy and does not want to be seen as in a lather and he's so cool and the ground washes out from under his feet.
I pass a store. There's still a TV blasting. I see my boss on the screen! He is expostulating for the cameras, shaking his head in that silly melodramatic preening like MacCarthy used to.
The boss is bewailing the branch office, the one I left, being closed.
He is radiating opprobrium to shift the heat. Boy, this is not up to his standards! He goes on, lambasting the door with the sign "Closed" on it. He's a short little guy and feels he must compensate, I suppose.
Reality: I did work for a long time in a civil service position with two sites, and I traveled from one to the other, sometimes in the same day, and I had a couple of junior-sized bosses who tried to gain height through pure bluster. The scenes of my dreams are like I only heard about them on the radio, like the Bat Cave or Jack Benny's vault. Nothing more than vaguely resembles the actual scene. I don't know why that is. I suspect it's because I have little visual memory.