I dreamt last night that I was playing at a beach, or at least very sandy park… coming down the slide I found what was first a silver ball, but sort of changed and flattened into a hockey puck with some autograph on it in gold. I took it up to the boardwalk, where there were a lot of kids with machine guns who escorted me to a sort of bank window. Behind bullet-proof glass an older guy demanded the puck from me in a gruff voice. Looking around at the guns, I shrugged, and slid it through a metal drawer to him, and asked if there was a reward for bringing it back… he snarled and said that his gift to me was that I had one minute before he told the kids to open fire.

I sort of accepted that and started sprinting away, jumping over the side of the boardwalk and into the thick grasses below. It was less than a minute later when gunfire erupted, sending leaves into movement around my head and whizzing sounds near my ears. The terrain changed to a more inland-type with heavy scrub and wrought-iron fences… a graveyard appeared and granted a lot of cover from the now less frequent gunfire. From behind one of the crypts there was a rope-grid leading up over a wall, and there were more of those silver pucks at the base. I picked up two and put one in each front pocket before climbing the makeshift ladder over the taller fence, pulling it off the top of the fence, so my hunters would have trouble following.

Losing them, I went to a lifeguard station up the coast that also has a police sub-station nearby. (this is actually a place near the pompano pier… the land was more even and the beach was now in view. In my waking reality, there are no graveyards or giant play areas that close) right out fornt of the station, I was recounting the events to my ex-boss’s son, who didn’t believe me…”I didn’t hear any gunfire… you’re full of shee-it”. I was miffed and handed him a puck, and told him to take a walk up coast a bit, and show it to any of the kids up there, then. His ‘dad’ shows up, (It wasn’t my ex-boss, but some skinny guy that sort of looks like Lance Hendrickson) and tells him not to… for some reason I think he’s responsible for security on the beach. I demand that he do something about the gun-toting teenagers and the old guy… he just replies that “Even the police are afraid to go in there. It’s easier to just let them have the land.” I start calling him names, as he walks away… “Coward! C–ksucker!”… about this time, I got a little lucid, (maybe because I don’t call anyone c–ksucker, even when annoyed… maybe an a–hole, at the worst), and just started yelling psuedo-insult words that begin with ‘c’… “Cookie Crook”, “Cheeze Cracker”, “Cheerleader”, “Cabbage Patch Kid!”…

upon which Newt woke me up by patty-patting my forehead, looking for snuggles. I gladly obliged him, mulling this over in my mind before getting up and typing it out here.

totally unrelated…. or is it? – thank-you-ma’am

I overslept… no time for walkies today. Somehow, I’m disappointed. I sort of want to walk to the beach, now.