I was riding in the backseat of my Mom’s convertible. Robert Coontz was driving – and fast! Smithka was in the other front seat – or was it Merck? He (whichever) asked me how things are going. I replied, “I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately.” I added, “often transcendental,” wondering if I’d chosen the right word.[*] Robert zipped through generic narrow East Coast streets. I realized he was going the wrong way down a one way street. As the road curved right, Robert yelled, “almost missed it!” and pulled hard left, leaving the road. I thought I was going to die as we crashed through bushes to a stop.

Standing outside the car, I was trying to gather a mess of colorful strings and rags (parachute? hammock?). Michal Patten walked up and said something. I woke up.

[*] Surreal seems more apropos of a dream in which I discuss my dreams – possibly with a dead man.