It seems I had a recurring dream about a man who played beautiful music in the morning. I say “it seems” because the music is quite familiar; I think I have heard it many times in dreamland. He played from some place nearby, a small house or maybe a shack.

A few days ago I dreamed that I recorded his music as I heard it from my window. The music was interrupted by argument, then by shots.

I ran out to see my friend dying on the street — the dream was quite graphic. His race was different from mine but the same as the murderer.

This morning, I dreamt that I was in his house. A crowd – mostly members of his race – gathered outside, angry, seeking revenge.

I had the recording. I played it. We all cried.

I wonder if I will ever dream about this man and his music again.