Last night I dreamed that Louisville’s various neighborhoods and townships were revamped into amusement park sections to draw tourists. We already have a Germantown in real life. In my dream, the residents there were being paid to dress in suspenders and lederhosen.
Churchill Downs was renamed Horsey Land. Everyone who lived there wore horse t-shirts. But that was it. I remember my dream self thinking how weird it was that they went to more effort dressing up Germantown than they did the home of the Kentucky Derby. That’s just doesn’t make any sense.
I wish I could remember some of the others. I have a feeling they were priceless. But the dream is already evaporating into the ether.
The only other part I remember is that I was visiting all of the areas to see the changes, and I had to take a ferry to cross over to Germantown. (There is no such ferry in the real Louisville.) There was a woman with her teenage daughter on the boat. The woman and I started having a very nice conversation. Then she surreptitiously slipped me a note. It read, “We really can’t do this anymore. I have to think of my daughter.” I looked at her completely confused. She looked back at me smiling, as if nothing had happened. I slipped her back a note that said, “Are you a crazy person?” Then the ferry arrived and I went on to find some oom-pah-pah in German Land. Or Town. Whatever.
I want to go back there tonight so I can find Bourbonville.