Where to begin. Should I talk about Greenacres and it’s sixty-nine residents, or should I start with the staff who manage those residents. I doubt any of them see what I do. It is early on Sunday morning, the valley covered in trees has just been touched by the light of a new day. A pair of grey squirrels are cavorting on the handkerchief sized area of grass that holds back the forest from overwhelming Greenacres. There are sparse pickings for the squirrels today, but for us who know how the access the world of dreams the pickings are rich.
Should I start with Marilyn, a former beauty queen and playboy girl, or perhaps I might start with Rodger the handyman. Who today is sleeping in his workshop after downing a bottle of whiskey. His wife Émily having thrown him out, after his impetuous decision to sleep with Kathrine whose bountiful body reflects her interest in cooking hearty meals for the residents of Greenacres
The intriguing dreams emanating from the staff and residents of Greenacres would take Sigmund Freud a life time to decipher and amuse him greatly, for the girls on the motorcycles are naked.