While I was walking around on Weber down by the liquor store on the east side of the street I ran into my friendquaintance from collections who was mentioned in a recent dream. We start talking and walk down Dale towards the park. I don't remember our conversation but I think the gist was "lol u were in my dreem". Along the way I put my arm around her waist and then attempted to kiss her. She casually moved her head aside so my lips hit her chin rather than her lips.

That's when she made a run for it. While she was running I could see her g-string start to ride up along with her buttcheeks showing as her shorts started inching down just enough. When I turned the corner onto Corona I saw that she was laying on someone's front lawn doing clothed Playboy poses but when she saw me that's when she took off again at a faster pace that she lost her flip flops.

Now Colorado Springs wasn't Colorado Springs anymore. I was stumbling across a rough-hewn boardwalk that was lined with Flintstones-style papier mache caves which were brightly painted by hippies or fine arts majors in college. Each one of the caves was labelled with really old license plates from the 1940's. A guy wearing leather pointed to one that had a black license plate of JL-013 on it, "She went in there." I hopped over the railing and thought I was going into the cave but it was nowhere to be found so I chose the nearest one that resembled the cave and went in.

I was in a real granite cave not some man-made amusement. It was brightly lit too. In the side rooms I could see there were these large, hairless gray dogs which had human-like heads without jaws. Not that they were made that way without jaws but someone had torn the jaw from their skulls. The beasts had beards of veins wetly hanging from their former maw, their front legs were stained red. Shambling down towards me were gray humanoids who might be related to these beasts. Their arms were twice as long as their legs, eyeless and featureless faces spun on their necks as they dripped blood from their assholes. "Fucker. He pointed me to the Silent Hill cave."

Just like movie monsters from the 1950's these horrors were easily outrun, even by fat old me, and I didn't trip once increasing my lead. Back outside my friendquaintance was nowhere to be seen nor the black leather-clad guy.

Now I was really lost. The neighborhoods seemed to be mirrored and some houses were changed. For example: The Birdhouse. Instead of being a tall blue house next to a small Pentecostal church the house was painted seafoam green with yellow trim. Surrounding the place were brambles and hedges that had a secret path. Upon the roof was a yellow sign that said "Juice". Just like in all dreams I knew the path and went into the place. The guy who writes Tales from the "Liberry" was sitting behind a desk furiously writing his next blog entry. Mostly he was oblivious to my presence but when I introduced myself he rolled his eyes and muttered "You again."

When I left the house it was boarded up and abandoned with a FOR SALE sign in front of the gnarled entrance of the now-obvious pathway. The neighborhood was turning back to normal and I walked back to Weber. I stood in front of the print shop across from the liquor store and looked at my reflection in its dark window. My reflection was younger reminding me of when I was sixteen which made me feel sad so I plugged in my hair trimmer. The socket wasn't behaving and kept shocking me. A few times I thought it was plugged in and tried shearing the hair from my head but ended up just combing it with the guard. Soon the plug gained purchase and the trimmer sparked to life allowing me to start shaving my head. The sixteen year old reflection in the window didn't change but I could feel the large clumps falling behind me making me wonder if people would be frightened that I changed my look so drastically in such a short frame of time. Halfway through my task I stopped feeling mortified because I didn't save any long thin braids of my hair as a souvenier and raddidge was nowhere to be found.