place: somewhere near the Mediterranean, a cobblestone terrace with many small tables, a great and narrow stone staircase leading to a busy street
who: myself, Al Pacino, several gunmen
i am sitting alone at a table on the terrace, there is an olive tree and a lemon tree.
i can hear city traffic above me, at the top of the stairs.
i am drinking limonade, the air is warm, there is sun, but where it comes from i'm not sure.
i cannot see the sky, only the high stone walls that reach to the street.
a horn blows.
Al Pacino explodes through a small alley way that seems more like a crevice in the stone walls.
he is wearing a navy blue suit.
he is very young, very thin.
blood is running down one side of his face and there is terror in his eyes.
Pacino runs toward me and two men follow him through the crevice.
they are wearing fedoras and dark suits and they carry machine guns.
Pacino throws himself at me.
i become Pacino.
i run up the stairs, skipping steps.
i see taxis starting and stopping.
i see a red bus.
the men are close behind me.
they are shooting at me.
the crackle of machine guns mixes with the city traffic.
i reach the street.
but i am dead.