Dream #282: Dots Gun
01.14.2012 § Leave a comment
The younger girl starts a game of passing the mic around. We’re intended to raise our hands for each other. Shin gets the mic, and Stan has something to say but mumbles it. Vince grabs the mic and stands up. He shouts Party!
Everyone gets up and scatters, maybe to the bathroom. Dale and I start cleaning up. Only one of the jigsaws are running, but sparks are flying off all of them. One guy, who had been in talking to himself in the closet while cleaning up a family-sized bag of Dots candy spilled across a white cabinet, emerges and starts dusting the sawdust off the jigsaw tables. He says he’s not too big on Dots himself, which is great because I eat candy indiscriminately. I’ve been eating butter out of dog bowl on a lower shelf of the same white cabinet, anyway.
There’s a rolled-up piece of paper sticking out of the Dots bag, looking like a gun. Dale picks up the whole bag and points the barrel around, snickering. I have a Dots Gun, he announces mischievously.
I climb out of the truck into the streets of 1800’s nighttime London: the haunt of Jack the Ripper. The cabinet is next to it, and though it’s now made of wrought iron instead, the bowl is still there. It looks like a dog has eaten some of it, so I start eating from a bag of pitted dates instead. A policeman comes up to me. I assume he wants me to move around the corner since I’m parked in the wrong place, but apparently I just look homeless to him, and he doesn’t want me to eat in the street, lowering property values. I start to get the impression that he’s just trying to strike up a conversation with me in order to get invited to our party.