...I have to get to class, and as I head up the hill on Main Ave. from the Swift Court corner house, why walk when I can fly? I don’t know what happened to my car, but this is too urgent – I snarl up traffic when I latch onto a motorcycle. The woman rider isn’t very happy about this. Windy, stormy skies. I just need a strong gust to get some lift. Wandering in, mid-afternoon, it’s sunny and the air is fresh. Purple glass chunks, like large 8-sided dice, scattered in the dead grass. Are they for sale? I inquire at the counter, they don’t know the price, so they need to put them in one of the orange bags. The young woman cashier asks me to go the other store to get bags. Is my watch still an hour off? The college is now the mall, and as I chat with the cashier at the other store (I've seen you around...), Manson’s gang moves in to take hostages. Again? Late afternoon. Out in the parking lots, by the railroad tracks, we know the drill – lay down, face down and don’t move. Manson coerces a blowjob from one of the fellows, I guess I’m spared the indignity. (This is when, looking back from later in the dream, I must have taken the Metamucil.) I ask one of his flunkies, Don’t you sometimes feel like it’s all going to come down bad on you one time? Sunset. They make us go into the cave where the tracks end, but the gay man determines there is a bear, maybe a sloth, living in the cave, and we crawl out with all due haste. Night. The earthen floor hinges up like an alligator’s jaw, closes one of the hostages in the cave, but someone else will take care of it; we have been rescued.
The gay man’s home: several of us are celebrating our narrow escape. He takes me to bed. Shortly after midnight, and he’s still serving coffee or whatever. The Metamucil (and maybe an excess of cofee) has, by now, instilled some urgency. I scout out the bathroom and lock myself in. One switch turns on the hotplate, which starts the teakettle whistling (probably sounds of my flatmate reaching ionto the dream), the stereo (the dance mix of Ministry’s Filth Pig), and the lights. Very cozy, to have all that at hand when you’re rousing to get to work in the morning, I suppose. The bowel movement is violent and watery, and I’m concerned that I will overflow the toilet. I clean up and exit and we are all out on the lawn, where I neck and pet with one of the women. Her nipples are uncommonly long. She says either "I love how you rub me" (which would be fine) or "I love when you rub me" (which would indicate she wants more genital focus). While I try to figure what to make of this, she says "Shut your mouth". Well, we wouldn’t want to look like a slack-jawed moron, would we? I feel somewhat slighted, but the crinkly stiffening of her nipple starts to spread over her whole breast, and I wake.