Many Rivers to Cross

In a dream/nightmare early this morning I am in a Mumbai/Bombay street setting,  with the neighborhood hounds (here in Otter Creek) baying over the field.  I have been making my way from one bureaucratic setting to another, looking for work ... in offices in old decrepit high rise buildings.  The streets are covered with people, strange vehicles,  loud with sound,  including the dogs,  and overwhelming with smells.

I am hungry and have found my way to a locked up large old American ("Detroitian) vehicle hidden in a small, scrubby brush area.  Unlocking it I retrieve a CD, lock up and quickly leave for the busy streets.  In the lobby of a high rise I am ushered to a stairwell and walk up a few flights to a huge floor of what appears to be small delicatessens/food stalls  a myriad of food smells,  noise of people,  confusion of food making, buying and bartering,  eating.  I find the stall and a man beckons me into a room behind the food area.

It is a tiny community radio station,  connected to some some electronic network (Internet?),  of course.  And then he presents my breakfast:  three very small pieces of bacon,  some flat bread and some chutney/jam, coffee.   As we sit on chairs he puts the CD into a player,  makes an announcement including my name and brings up cut #9, Many Rivers to Cross.