(Entered in paper journal at 9:10 AM at Starbucks at 1st Street and 7th Avenue in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
I was at my friend R's house. I lay in bed. I heard a noise outside, in the hallway or stairwell. I went to the door and opened it just a crack. Three black men stood outside. I didn't know who the men were. But I acted cheerful, like I was happy to see them again. The man on my right had a gun. The one in the middle spoke, and I replied, but I don't know what we were saying.
I had a feeling the men had just robbed the people upstairs, but I didn't want to let on that I knew. I was sure the guy with the gun really wanted to shoot me. At some point the guy in the middle may have told the guy to put his gun away.
My friend R's dog growled a bit. The middle guy pushed the door open a little and asked, "Who was that?"
I said, "Oh -- it's my dog. Our dog. I don't live here alone." I was trying to find the right way to sound like this apartment was too poor to rob. I pushed the door back to the point where it wasn't so open that the men would have a chance of spotting the dog.
The guy on my left now handed me a drinking glass with fish patterns on it, like my friend R actually had at his place. But the glass was from upstairs. The guy said, "You'd better take this. It might do you good."
I took the glass, but I immediately tried to figure out how to get rid of it. I didn't want the people upstairs to see this glass and think I had been the one to rob their house.
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