So I was stuck in a foreign city and my flight was at 10:28 p.m.. Most of the museums were open late and figured I'd while away the remaining hours there. One of the interesting things about the dream is that at any time I could wish my bicycle to my side which gave me considerable freedom. The entrance to one museum was through a club where someone passed me and they smelled of marijuana. It was very sweet and I wanted to get some for myself.

The sweet smell was from a four leafed marijuana plant rather than a five leafed plant. Someone passed me an envelope with enough weed for two joints. It didn't last very long and I spent the greater part of the dream in a haze. Time dragged on, the museums were a maze of stairwells and elevators that lead nowhere and sometimes the elevators wouldn't even stop at my current location. When I finally made it outside, I wished for my bike and rode to the airport.

The airport looked a lot more like the train station in Hoboken, NJ than any airport I've encountered in my brief life. Folks were filing up between planes that were parked shoulder to shoulder. Thankfully there was no byzantine and draconian security and passengers were treated like human beings rather than potential criminals. I checked my ticket and the blood ran out of me.

My flight was at 10:28 a.m. not p.m.. As I pedalled up to my plane I was hoping the agent would let me on since the ticket was for today. People were crowded around the lone agent and the wait was very long to the point that I'd miss the flight if I stayed in the queue.

Eventually I found my way to home in New Jersey. My dad was sorting out boxes of comics for his business and wanted me to help him. I found a couple of lost issues of Cerebus the Aardvark along with extant copies of Plasticman comics based on the eighties Saturday morning cartoon not the actual DC character. When I decided to go, it was night and outside I could hear a swarm of bees. Dad was sitting perilously close to the kitchen's screen window and just grunted when I said he shouldn't go outside.

After a long journey I emerged from darkness. Ahead of me were slaves singing in the afternoon sun throwing red balls about the size of an average head into some netting. Behind me were a legion of centurions with large red crests, bronze spears glinting in the sun and armor blackened with enamel. They were on their way to slaughter the slaves for a suspected rebellion. A lone centurion had run forward and slit the net so the fruits of the slave's labor would tumble downhill and cement the justification for the army's planned operation.

I was a slave or at least I was no better than a slave since I had no identity in this world. Luckily I reached the net in record time and mended it before any of the red things were released.

The netting was part of a fenced, square enclosure about sixty feet wide on a side. The slaves were harvesting giant fruit not playing a game. When the fruit are ready to be picked, the fruit are akin to cherries. As time passes the fruit become tomatoes until finally they complete their ripening into pumpkins. All the time the fruit are the size of a human head. Such versatility in a vegetable makes it a staple for this unknown land. Behind me I could hear soldiers shouting coded phrases to each other in preparation of attack. The hill became increasingly steep but I kept crawling as quickly as possible hoping to spook the slaves or warn them of impending doom. Several half-naked and barefoot slaves noticed the approaching columns and ran when the soldiers did not return their friendly waves.

Just like dogs any sign of fear is enough motivation to begin pursuit. They shouted, "The barracks! Kill them in the barracks!" Spears lowered and feet raised clouds of dust. People were screaming in fear but they all safely reached safety. I had no idea where to go and kept crawling at top speed eventually reaching a street. It looked a lot like New York City but there were pumpkins nailed to telephone poles and traffic lights. I figured the various stages of those fruit represented the progression of seasons and the final pumpkin stage were used as symbols for their Christmas or winter solstice festival.

None of the centurions had broken off their advance but I was able to find two citizens to fall behind and act like their personal servant in hopes of anonymity or safety. They got into a beat-up car from the seventies and didn't seem to acknowledge my presence in the back seat. Both spoke an unknown language and seemed oblivious to me even when I tried to capture their attention.