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Ghetto Party

Dream | January 19, 2010

I drove into some seedy neighborhood in a big fat car like a Cadillac. A buddy Raoul is lounging back in the passenger seat with his feet up over the window sill. We park in an alley around the corner from a liquor store and pawn shop and some hip people congregate around the car. I think we were looking for them. In particular I was looking to hook up with this lanky girl I knew. She slides up to me at some point and I rope my arm around her waist. She's got cho-cho lips and that's all right with me.

Waioli enters the picture. He's kind of a jerk but he's a dealer and always has stash so we tolerate him. Soon we got a small crowd humming and buzzing and Waioli suggests we take the party into So n' So's liquor store. The owner is a friend of ours so we all kinda stream in. I don't remember his name but we'll call him "Fred" for simplicity.

Well we accumulate in Fred's Liquor Store and people are getting into the merchandise and knocking shit over and I'm thinking we've crossed some line. Fred is probably pissed off but he's nowhere to be seen.

A delivery guy strolls down the main aisle pushing a dolly stacked with beer boxes. Some drunk guy stumbles after him. After awhile I hear some conversation in their direction and go to investigate. Raoul follows me back and leans up against a shelf.

At one end of the store I find Waioli in a squarish wooden stand-up desk-type thing much like a podium. There's enough room in it for one person and a desk surface at waist level on three sides, and then higher up is a surrounding shelf. Waioli is inside this thing doing some paperwork, which strikes me as peculiar. So I ax him “wot you doon man?" and he sez “I'm changing the delivery contracts." The delivery guys is standing there looking despondent, his sad face is dripping off his skull. Waioli says now Fred don't have to pay the guy for delivery.

I say to the delivery guy, “I thought delivery was free. Like Fred pays for the beer and dassit."

He responds with “Delivery fees are how I make my money!"

Behind me I hear Waioli say “Not anymore!"

Delivery guy continues: “I get the beer from the factory and charge the stores for the service." He then proceeds to tell me about his costs like gas and time and these rubber washers or belts that are part of the high-tech dolly he's holding and pointing at.

I turn around, jab a finger at Waioli, “Stop re-writing the contract. You do that, man, and you're an asshole!"

This is probably the most vivid part of the dream, coz that phrase suddently seemed very catchy, so I repeated it like a chant: “you're-an-asshole!" And suddenly Raoul picks it up in perfect time and repeats the chant loudly. Other people are tuning in.

Waioli is out of the standing desk-thing and backing down the main aisle towards the door and other people pick up the chant.

“you're-an-asshole!"

“you're-an-asshole!"

“you're-an-asshole!"

The chanting throughout the liquor store drifts away as I wake up...

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