In a dream Michael Jackson is playing a concert in the town I live in or a dream version of that town, beside a river that doesn't quite exist. Earlier, a priest had preached a sermon, not quite condemning Jackson from the pulpit, but talking about him in such a way that no right thinking person would be going to his concert. I watch him, somehow from above, begin to sing to an empty field in which there's only a sleeping homeless man and dog. The river flows in front of him, makes the edge of the stage he's standing on. The light is that light which sometimes comes in dreams, brighter than normal light, as if it's shining from another world, in this case, from the one outside the half closed curtains where the sun is all set to wake me up but there's still time to see him realize the audience aren't coming and see how little it means to him. He sings Don't Stop ‘til You Get Enough or maybe one of his mellow, mid-seventies songs like One Day in Your Life or You've Got a Friend. His voice the kind of voice you only hear in dreams but, for him, just how he always sings or how he always used to sing, back then. By now a few odd people have started wandering in to dance and sing along. The homeless man and his dog have finally woken up and I'm just about to, still half asleep, still listening to Jackson in his blaze of sunlight, singing.