A House On A Street

I had a dream last night that I was walking with a lady down Acoa Street, heading for some place called ACOA House.  It didn’t quite seem like a date, but we were definitely headed to an event.  When we walked into the house, a ragtag group of men reshuffled their seats around a table, opening a space for me at the center.  Who was the empty chair next to me for?  Their mother? The woman I was with?  Was this a date?

They all looked like they had spit-combed their hair, plastering it into “good-boy” coifs, to make a proper impression on the new guy.  You know, like that country music loving goof in The  Shawshank Redemption.  Or maybe the Elvis-lookin’ dude that gets shot. (spoiler alert)  “Andy, I swear, if you let me in I’ll study hard and learn me somethin’!”

Some of the men I knew, which kinda surprised me. But they all looked like they were waiting for me to show up.

ACOA House, on Acoa Street?  What can that possibly mean?