I spent an unusual amount of time at work, in the cafeteria, fumbling with the vending machines and trying to get snacks out of them.
Finally I get some cinnamon sugar Pop Tarts.
I had these last night at work, and I tend to think I'm not dreaming when dreaming.
Somehow I end up in a museum. There seems to be a display of large numerals, lined up in a pattern of exponential growth, like 2 4 8 16. Somehow, this is supposed to be a graph of the increasing amount of other things cut with pre-consumer cocaine. There's an informational video on that says cocaine is frequently mixed with laundry detergent.
I'm not convinced.
I walk past a pool table where some people I don't really know, regulars at the local Rocky Horror cast, are playing. I conversed with them about something or other (it was mundane). It ends with a hug and a handshake from the one wearing spikes and pale makeup. I move on.
I find myself in front of the Brady Bunch house, modified to have a large window in front, proudly displaying a table with the whole family sitting around it. Father Brady has precisely four lines of coke, snorting them from the top of a book. Cindy proudly holds up a large plastic bag full of crack rocks, as Bobby does a line with Dad.
Suddenly, a wrecking ball comes through the front of the Brady compound; Cindy and Bobby scramble to gather up the white powder and dispose of it quickly.
It is not known whether or not Alice flushed all of it in time.
I wake up with a giant boner.