So I'm somewhere in Michigan. How do I know it's Michigan? It's like New Jersey, i.e. swampland, but colder and more humid than anyone would expect. Everything's a dark brown or dark green, trees are always bare like late autumn scraping at the clouds hoping to reveal some elusive sunshine to caress their tortured twigs. If it matters I'm somewhere on the upper peninsula.

I call a run-down motel my home. My only companions are Jaybird, Tim Moyer from New Jersey who used to run the Champions game and then the vampire campaign over at Ty and Stephanie's place and someone I have never met before but I recall his name as being David. I can't remember anything else about the guy except his name was David. Eye color, hair color, stature, bearing are all abstract qualities that I can not ascribe to this David. The opening scene has me peeking through the heavy, asbestos, anti-voyeur curtains which bore an awful green and orange color scheme that wasn't even fashionable in the seventies. Adding insult to injury there were great big "Hawaiian" flowers that resembled those sticky anti-slip things for bathtubs than an actual flower. Jaybird, David (not Dave, how's that for a description since everyone's friend is Dave but no one is friends with David) and Tim are walking down the street laughing it up and suddenly I feel very alone and estranged from the world at large. The thought of being drawn into the cold black waters of Lake Superior and being erased from the memory of the human race.

Jaybird notices me. Apparently in my dreams he's an eagle eyed fellow which doesn't precisely follow the reality of waking life. His face brightens and he runs over to the window, unzips his pants and waggles his boner at me. I draw the curtain with mixed feelings not knowing if I should roll on the floor laughing or bang my head against the toilet tank until it shatters spilling water on the floor and soaking the rug enhancing the ghostly scent of mildew lurking beneath the heavy fog of generic Lysol.

Boredom forces me to leave the room. Leaving a motel room is always a stressful event because I have to make sure everything is in its place, make a mental inventory where everything is and then watch my hand lock the door with the key so I am assured I didn't lock myself out of the room. An hour later I'm standing in the wind blowing off the lake, remnants of a sunset are leaking through the clouds on the horizon presumably gracing a far less bleak neighborhood than my newly adopted state. Saddest part about going on my evening constitutional is the fact that there aren't any leaves on the ground. Dormant brown grass is everywhere without the shroud of fallen foliage. The warm yellow light shining from the kitchen of a neighbor's home drawing me like a moth to her back door. She has a magical oven which is a portal to faraway lands. Pretty much starts the oven, sets it to 450^°, crawl through a dark tunnel and without warning the traveller is standing at their desired destination.

Now I'm at a shopping mall. All the stores are closing and it's the middle of the day. Something about a rude shopkeeper but I didn't elaborate in my notes so I'll just end the dream here.