(Entered in paper journal at 7:43 AM at Sit & Wonder cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was either in a plane or in a car that drove on a high overpass over the industrial area of a city like Denver. My old boss BS was driving the plane/car. One other person was in the plane/car, possibly my younger brother. I sat in the backseat, on the driver's side. The other person was possibly in the front, passenger seat.
BS was taking us somewhere, as if we had to be with him, not as prisoner, but as wards of some kind. BS told us, after one of us had expressed some misgivings about our well-being, that he would give us everything we needed, and even everything we wanted. That seemed fine to me, although I felt like it might be going a little overboard to give me everything I wanted.
BS saw a McDonald's down below. He exited the overpass. Our movement was steep, just like we'd been flying and were now descending sharply through the air, as well as driving down a highway exit ramp.
We were now in the drive-thru for the McDonald's. BS ordered one ice cream cone, for himself. The other person in the car acted happy, as if we, too, were going to get ice cream cones. But BS said he had stopped here to get an ice cream cone only for himself. That was fine with me, as we had, I remembered, just eaten a big meal. The other person was disappointed.
But BS realized what he had just done. He wasn't giving us everything we needed and wanted. He said, "Well, actually, I can get you guys each a sundae. Would you like that? A sundae?" I imagined a McDonald's hot fudge sundae, in a clear plastic sundae cup. I thought that a sundae was really too much.
Dream #2
I stood down in a weird place, like some area in an industrial warehouse. There were a lot of chutes like gigantic air shafts, which sloped down to the floor, forming walls for a small room. The gigantic shafts all had flaps at their ends. The floor of this "room" had boxes, packing materials, styrofoam, plastic, and paper scattered all over the place. And beyond the shafts, piles of the same refuse could be seen, as if this were part of a large trash heap or garbage dump.
I stood with a few other people, co-workers, but younger than I by a few years. One of the people may have stood at a podium with something like a computer which recorded the items we retrieved from the shafts, as if the shafts were chutes for sending or receiving packages or other items.
But now women somewhere were being killed, and the bodies were being sent down the shafts. We received a few of the bodies. We tried to figure whether we could do anything to stop the person who was killing these women. That may have been why we were receiving the bodies: to figure out the mystery and stop the deaths. Or perhaps the killer was personally sending us the bodies, to taunt us.
Now we received a particularly grotesquely mutilated body. It lay in the chute. Either I or a woman who was like my mother (or, perhaps, I myself as a woman who was like my mother) opened the flap of the shaft just enough to see the body. I or the woman quickly closed the flap again.
Everybody asked if we were going to take the body out. But either I or the woman decided the body was in too repulsive a state for everybody else to see. Either I or the woman sharply said, "No. Keep this door closed. I'll take care of this one when everybody else is gone."
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