The other night, I had endless nightmares, but I only remember the first one.
I was walking to my car in a mall parking lot, waiting for a friend to catch up with me.
An SUV was parked very close to my driver’s side door.
I squeezed in, just as the driver of the SUV started her car.
She turned the wrong way and pinned me between both vehicles.
I banged on her window and pleaded with her to turn the other way.
She was nervous and hit the gas again, and I could feel my hips crushing.

Eventually, she turned the other way and I was freed from severe injury.
Her friends showed up to bust my chops about it, and one in particular approached me to assault me. I backed away.
He backed away as well before taking action against me.
There were four of them. Two males, two females.
Three of them walked away. The other male didn’t.  He approached me to attack like the other, but didn’t back away.
When he got within reach, I quickly punched him in the face, then head locked him, in order to twist his head further than ligaments and muscle would normally allow.
I killed him.
At this point, my friend appears, we jump in my car, and pull away.
He directs me to drive to this car wash, that doubled as a whore house.
But I didn’t know this.
Inside the car wash, we were in a room with young women who pretended to be interested in what I was saying.
I needed someone to know what just happened.
No one cared.
They pleaded with me to buy their sex.
Then six people were pointing guns at each other in two groups of three.
My friend and I ran away. I ran faster.
I found my car, but my friend was far behind.
I ran towards him so that he could see me, and the police were suddenly there with their guns drawn.
They ordered us on the ground and asked for identification.
I told them “I was on the job”, not one of the bad guys.
When I opened my wallet, two baggies of weed fell out.
Within this dream, I thought about losing my career; I thought about my wife’s disappointment and her lack of security, having a bum felon for a husband.
Then I woke up in a sweat.
For the record, I don’t smoke weed, I don’t consort with whores, and my poor car barely sees the inside of a car wash.

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