digame_esto (digame_esto) wrote,

and you can bet your last money, it’s gonna be a stone gas, honey...

just woke up.

I had a dream that I won $123,000 from a pinball machine. I cashed the check and then bought shoes. Thought about quitting my job and taking six months off. It was strange that there was a pinball machine putting out that kind of cash in the science building of the University of Wisconsin. Even stranger that I ended up in that room after I had been separated from a security detail after being fired at by large rabbit like creatures. So, there I was, walking through the student union with a hundred-thousand dollar check and my M9 thinking about what portion of that money I'd have to set aside for taxes.

I woke up after I'd bought a used car I'd had my eye on. Upon consciousness I was reluctant to open my eyes, knowing that it was likely that I wouldn't find the pistol or an inflated bank account. This was cemented upon hearing the theme from Soul Train coming out the radio. "People all over the world... Soul Train..."

The voice of Don Cornelius.

Yep. I was back where I started, stuck in the same old day night cycle, and my back hurt like hell. Realizing this would never allow me to go back to sleep, I decided to get up and check the mail, probably go but some lottery tickets. Surely a sign of resigned desperation, though I had seen an owl the night before.

Pants on and walking outside. Nothing in the mailbox. Elementary school kids are walking home. Heading back to the house I pick up on something. There's an opossum the size of a small dog walking across the cul-de-sac. There's only one reason why something that blind and that ugly is out this time of day. It's fucking sick. I try to offset the instinctual hatred for the diseased creature; I pay attention to it's stride, imagine the track pattern; think about if it were a good opossum, like Pogo.

No, it's ugly, dangerous, and sick. I kind of wish I still had that M9. Those ambidextrous, reversible type green nylon holsters like I had in the dream are a pain in the ass; what, with the springy thing that holds it onto the guard belt. I think, "If I had $123,000 I could have bought a gun and taken care of this. Could I make it into the house and back in time? Sure. It's slow. I know where it's going. It's slow and in the middle of the street." I watched it for a minute more and then went inside.

"Call me Atticus."
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