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Where is My Backpack?

Dream | December 3, 2009

On my way to a party, driving in my van. At some point I acquired some weed and the equivalent of two lines of cocaine. Along the way I rolled a joint and sprinkled a line of coke in it. Then took a big puff of the final product, saving the rest for the party. Seems like I was driving while I did this.

This is just a dream, folks. Not a reflection of reality or my normal practices.

So I get to the party and my ol' buddy Dan is there. And um...

And uh... ok, so Dan greets me, and it's kind of an outside party, in the middle of the street, with some buildings all around, and some couches to relax on and so forth. People are lounging around and some groovy music provides dreamy atmosphere.

I meet this Asian guy and he reminds me of someone, so I say “Hey! Haven't seen you for a long time. What was your name?" He tells me but I've forgotten it now. It was composed almost entirely of consonants. He's put off ‘coz I cannot pronounce it, so he spells it and that just confuses me more.

And I have a backpack, with the stuff I mentioned earlier—the fatty and remaining line. I put the backpack down near a couch as I'm talking with some girls hanging out there. This girl I'm yakking with also has a funny name and I have to pronounce it a few times to get it right. Maybe I was just stoned...

So I'm walking around chatting with people and eventually the happenin‘ nucleus of the party gravitates away from the street and up a flight of steps to a deck on the second floor of a nearby building. Dan and some other familiars are hanging out up there. It's gotten darker and the lights up there are drawing everyone like moths.

I look around and my backpack is gone! I figure someone just set it somewhere, and I ask around. Anybody seen my backpack? It's pretty distinct. Nobody has seen it.

I slowly start panicking. Most of the crowd has abandoned the street area and it's evident my pack is nowhere to be seen.

Nighttime transitioned into the early hours of the morning and the party has diffused. My search had led me to a kind of open warehouse with tons of stuff. It seemed more like a freeway underpass enclosed by chain-link fence, with dirty metal shelves of junk like a lost n' found, but more organized and official like a gathering of materials confiscated by the police.

Amongst this debris I began to find an item or two I recognized as mine. A box of something here, a knick-knack there. Things I wouldn't have brought to the party or that wouldn't have been in the backpack, but clues to collect nonetheless. The backpack itself remained elusive.

There was this security guard or police officer in a uniform and he was being an asshole. His accent was faux-English or mid-Atlantic and his attitude very snobbish and uncooperative. I was asking him if he had seen my backpack and he was like, “Oh! So that's your stuff eh?" like he had found his suspect. “Well I'm sorry we can't give your backpack back!"

But I was like “whatever" and kept snooping. He's following me while I root around and eventually I find my pack in some corner. But the stuff inside is gone...

That security guard wasn't letting me out of there. So I slung the pack onto my shoulders and picked up some long metal bar or baseball bat and started swinging at him as I edged towards the exit. All the while he's whining and screaming “Stop it! That's evidence. You can't leave!" but eventually I got around him and he wasn't following.

The last thing I remember was him yelling and jumping up and down very comically, in a fit or tantrum, with all that junk around him piled up on dusty shelves amidst heavy pillars of reinforced concrete. That was when I woke up.

Tags   Drugs

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