Well, well, well
I was walking down a long dirt road surrounded by fields and pine trees. I wore a sweatsuit and a backpack and was trying to interpret the large map I was carrying. I walked several mile blocks, unable to find where I was going (though I was never sure where I was actually trying to go).
After a long while, a tractor pulling a hay wagon rode past me. I didn't think to hop on, but luckily Gia Franke (a former college classmate of mine with whom I haven't spoken for years) stopped the driver, hopped down, and, with enthusiasm, convinced me to join her and a dozen others on a ride to some convention center where the president (not the current president, but a president I created in my head) was supposed to speak later that day.
We rode along the road for a while, and I found myself telling life stories to all the other passengers.
At last we arrived at an enormous warehouse. Once inside I saw that a sizable crowd had gathered to hear the president's speech. I wandered off by myself because I was far more interested in exploring the warehouse than in hearing a canned message that I'd probably heard before. I ended up in a back room where the president was being prepped for his talk. I saw a woman run up to him and exclaim that his wife had fallen ill suddenly and was lying down in a nearby room.
I continued to explore the warehouse. I noticed that my left nostril had become irritatingly stuffed up, and I tried, as I walked, to expel the gunk from my nose, but I had no luck.
I finally found a large room in the warehouse in which dozens of brute men were, in an assembly line, unpacking large boxes of cocaine and repackaging the powder into a more manageable size. For some reason, they left the large garage doors of the room open to the outside. It was extremely windy, so cocaine clouds filled the room. I was quickly covered in the stuff. I, for some reason, was hopeful that it would clear my nasal cavity, but even cocaine couldn't help.
I knew that I should probably leave the room before I got in trouble with the brutes or before they all got caught by the plethora of security guards present in the building due to the presidents presence. However, before I left, a particularly muscular man forced me to put on a puffy hooded Miami Hurricanes coat (I had one when I was in lower elementary school) and grab a large black trash bag filled with something I would never see in the dream.
I left in a hurry (well, in as much of a hurry as a heavily coated guy carrying a large trash bag can be), and accidentally ended up in the room in which the First Lady was resting (unconscious). A bunch of the cocaine fell onto her (I had a thick layer on me, and I was constantly creating a cloud wherever I went), and I tried to brush it off, but it only made it worse.
The only thing left for me to do was run. I didn't leave the bag, for several reasons that made sense to me at the time (I didn't know what was in it, I didn't want to further harm the First Lady, I didn't want to leave my fingerprints behind on something that could've been filled with an illegal substance.
I must have been high, because I had no idea of knowing where I was going, or how to guide myself in certain directions. I just sprinted. I, unfortunately, literally ran into the president right as he was walking out to give his speech, knocking him to the floor and covering him in cocaine. Oops.
Then I awoke.
No comments:
Post a Comment