dream log
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I'm working for Mayor Giuliani and his assistant; we've put aside our differences, and we all get along wonderfully. Walking through some public housing, I joke about my upcoming trip (acid?) at 6:15 AM on Monday morning (it must be Friday afternoon right now); I get silent disapproval from one or two of the residents, who overhear me.

Am I scripting this movie? Directing it too? There's some new weird drug around. I'm not interested, but more and more people are, including my nephew. There's a party going on in my old dorm, and I'm in my old fifth-floor dorm room thinking about music. And alcohol for some reason - a tried-and-tested bad drug. I'll stick to that, even though I hate it; I decide the 6:15 AM Monday trip isn't especially interesting and decide that, come Monday, I will go in to work instead, since there's some more-interesting business with the mayor and his assistant. At the party, there's some ongoing game that involves doing things with our lighters; it goes awry on one occasion, I get some slight burns below the torso. No pain, no big deal; I'll live.

How's my movie going? A little labor unrest. I'm divided, since I'm both the boss and pro-labor. I go to the rear of the long, narrow restaurant, and see my nephew there, with a plateful of the new weird drug; the hits look like tiny, peppers with a clear, gooey outer coat, and he's snorting them, one at a time, one after the other, picking up each "pepper" and sniffing it up his nose. He's semi-oblivious to the outside world, and fully-oblivious to my worries about this new weird drug. I don't know what to say now. This isn't a movie.