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Still the hectic dreamer
I was busy in my dreams last night:

Let's start with the mutual seduction of some random straight guy, under the movie-Cliché premise that he is only in town for 3 more days and then gone forever. The consummation occurs in my childhood bedroom, which suddenly seems weird to me, and I walk out into the hallway to find myself on the street of a neighborhood I don't know.

I'm trying to get to drowdancer, avatarofchaos, and wamblin_man's swank new apartment. Apparently, gunn is hosting a poetry salon there, amidst the large pillows, draping curtains and hushed whispers of the attendants. I go in and out of doors, and have problems with locks. I eventually arrive, and find the straight boy there, though he's changed a bit, which I only know through outside perspective. There is casual touching, heads against shoulders, slow breathing.

Then, drowdancer yells "GAME!", and avatarofchaos and I throw down our dice and cry out the name of the demon pimp limo we are set on destroying (less dream-induced craziness than one would think).

I try to leave. Because I'm sad, and let's face it, that's pretty much my MO in real life. More problems with locks. People try to console me, but it is cold comfort. It is now night in the streets, and...


...which means my only option is to volunteer as a 'produce packer' at a food shelf in some war-torn country. Of course there are armed militia in the room with us, as I sort portabello caps and purple potatoes into boxes, filling in the gaps with leafy, unknown vegetables. Tempers flare, and for half a second, I am prepared to be shot. Instead, we are taken hostage (myself, Andy and the dogs, who have joined me for inexplicable reasons). After a wholly ineffectual rescue attempt by some international police organization, I take matters into my own hands.

There is a lot of fluidic movement, a lot of death, a lot of scenes that fold upon each other. I have friends, I have allies, in this monstrous complex that we are suddenly lost in. All the bad guys are standard mooks - the more of them there are, the less dangerous they become. The details grow fuzzy. They think they have us surrounded, but it's a trap that I've set with myself as the bait.

And then it is over without a climactic scene shown. We've reached the dénouement, and I'm driving alone in a car at night. The road is dark, winding, leading to a bright tower in the distance. I arrive, and get into the elevator. Some people call out for me to hold it for them, and I try, but the doors just close on my hand. No pain, just surprise. I reach my hotel room (because this is a hotel apparently), and I find my dogs waiting for me, along with a note about their stats. Zipper is a dire schnoodle, and Buttons is a 'nave' canine.