The Rat-Taled Dream

 Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2022
Images from the Internet unless indicated

A Rat-Taled Dream
In the dream, it is the present time, and despite the fact that the club The Rathskeller (aka The Rat) in Boston is long gone, I went to see a show with Kandy Kabot, who lived in the city for a number of years. I had been to the club numerous times between 1980 and 1985, so I was a bit familiar with it. However, the map does not match the territory in my dream.

As we approached the club, the front of it was lined with people waiting to get in, and there were windows on the front that went longer than the club’s entrance could fit in reality. We looked inside and there was a big room with marble floors, as people lined up.

Inside, at the head of the line, was a fortune teller reading tarots, who had to be paid in order to get into the club, above the cost to get in. I am not a believer in mysticism, especially having dated the assistant of a professional psychic during the early 1980s, so I was trying to figure another way into the club. When I got back to the glass doors, Kandy was gone, I looked in and she was on line to the fortune teller.

The Secret Service
(ffoto by Robert Barry Francos)

Somehow, I got into the place in a roundabout way, avoiding the seer and, for the moment, since the doorman was not there, I got in without paying. I went backstage and ran into the opening group (didn’t catch the name), which were a bunch of young guys who were in good spirits and friendly, and I hung out with them for a while, getting along well. They reminded me of the Long Island band The Secret Service, who I had seen at The Dive Bar in New York City in real life in the 1990s.

Naturally, I had my camera with me, but questioned whether it would work since I have not used it in a long time, and was unsure of the batteries.

I heard someone speaking behind me, and it was well known Boston musician Al Quint who I do not know personally, but with whom I am Facebook friends. In dream logic, however, I had seen him play before, in the 1980s. I turned around and said hello, and he said, “I know you! You took that picture of me onstage that I really liked.” I was impressed he remembered me.

The Dogmatics at The Rat
(ffoto by Robert Barry Francos)

We walked down a long corridor together and talked generally, until we got to the main room, where he took off to get ready. And instead of the lovely dive bar that the Rat actually was, in the midst of the dream, it was a large room with rows of folding chairs with a dais in front with four or five tables. The place was crowded, and in about the fourth row sat the opening band, who called me, saying they had saved me a seat. As I shuffled through the row to their enthusiastic waving me over, I woke up.