At best I can describe the setting as an old hotel that would be in Rainy Mountain. Reckon I've mentioned this hotel and its conventions in prior dreams. Expediency is required since I'm at the library abusing their wireless broadband and unable to plug the laptop into a socket near a desk and my battery, robust as it is, is meager in comparison to the newfangled laptops. The hotel is old, probably from the 1860's, the outside is rusty-red brick with lots of character that modern buildings lack because modern buildings attempt to emulate ice cube trays. Inside is full of dark wood trim, gas lamps, yellow wallpaper with ocher stripes and heavy wooden doors which would put up a fight against the burliest DHS thug.

Night time in my dream. Of course it's night time because I'm asleep but outside in my dream it's night. I go downstairs and go inside the ballroom or the dining area. No, it's nothing like The Overlook Hotel in Kubrick's The Shining which happens to be the only film release of The Shining and that piece of crap they showed on ABC was some idiotic nanny-state elevating the concept of family to some virtue. Anyway it's unsurprisingly dark when I enter the large room but as my eyes adjust I see my father standing in the middle.

He pulls out a flamethrower and tries to light it several times to no avail. "The fuck are you doing?" He looks at me with that god damned hangdog face and his voice full of guilt, "I'm going to kill myself, son. You don't talk to me anymore." Before I can even make a defense the flamethrower sparks to life and gouts of flame spurt through the room setting everything on fire. Despite the light my father is still standing in shadow as he mechanically and purposefully directs jets of flame everywhere. The walls collapse and I run outside to watch everything collapse around him. Once the dust settled I clambered over the rubble and found my father's blackened remains screaming up at the night sky.

I don't know what the fuck to feel. Relief? Abject despair? Nothing? Profound sorrow? All mixed up I walk down the street where raddidge is waiting for me in front of a restaurant. Her hands are wrapped around her and she's breathing vapor at me as an accusation for leaving her out in the cold. I'm not cold. We go inside, talk at a table and are presented with a check for $88.67. I pay and give a $5 tip because my subconscious sucks at math. Heck I even argue with raddidge that $5 is plenty as a tip for what we got there. As we're leaving and not talking to each other, mirroring real life most times, I stop on the stairs and can't go forward because I'm just so sad and start blaming myself and cursing my idiot fragile mental pathology. No tears, no sobbing, I'm just stuck in place staring at the sidewalk while raddidge walks off into the night without me oblivious to me.