(Entered in paper journal at 8:36 AM at Heights Coffee shop in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was out on a neighborhood street with my boss BS, my co-worker DE, and maybe somebody else. We all looked up a a big, concrete wall that was in the sunlight and was topped with a street and houses.
The day was warm. DE and I may have been sitting in a car. We were typing up a report. A computer screen was before me. The report was about a company, but it was also about a murderer.
BS and DE were accusing me of not checking my facts. I got really mad, because I had checked everything. I started to say so to BS and DE, but they immediately acquiesced, as if they didn't want to hear me. But I couldn't help myself. I yammered on and on about all the steps I had taken to check my facts. As I was saving the report file to the computer I messed up and started talking about saving the file instead of talking about checking the facts.
Now I was fumbling under the driver's side car seat, trying to find some last piece of evidence that would prove the murderer's guilt. I pushed a few books out from under the seat. One book may have had a purple cover and white lettering.
BS was somewhere, possibly in the backseat, but not visible. I told him I couldn't find the evidence. BS told me, in a voice almost like that of a good female cop, "Don't worry about it. I just went by his house. There's plenty of evidence. There are ten dead women's bodies on his basement floor."
No comments:
Post a Comment