(The Strange Dreams A Traveler Has) I’m in this indoor complex with murals of a golf course all around paintings of people finishing the 18th hole on one big wall. On another broad wall, is the 7th hole (I don’t know why I know it is the 7th hole), and a still life of a guy playing a shot out of a sand trap. A female golfer is pictured wearing a yellow v-neck sweater, with her brown hair flowing out of the top of her golf visor. She has a great suntan from a summer spent golfing. As for me, I am putting on an artificial putting green. I am not alone. Behind me, in the middle of the room are white plastic lawn chairs, which spread out from the snack bar/clubhouse beyond. The only vegetation is a vast collection of potted plants. My mind’s eye drifts into one of the potted plants. The dream evolves. The indoor golfing facility is forgotten. And I’m leafing through the pages of a photo book featuring exotic and beautiful women photographed amidst lush vegetation and the breaking waves of the South Pacific. It’s no longer a photo book. The pictures are moving.