Two nights ago, I dreamed that it was Friday (today) and that I was traveling on the Red Line with some of my co-workers. Somehow, I got left behind and was stranded at a newly constructed station, which was named either Douglas or Coupland. The station was sponsored by Apple, so Steve Jobs was on hand to watch its opening day. I talked to him for a bit, but he was not very nice, so our conversation was short. I still do not have a CharlieCard, so I had to scrounge through my pockets for quarters to give to the attendant (in typical unrealistic dream fashion, I did not have my wallet). I did not actually have $2.00, but my money was accepted anyway.
The inbound platform was extremely modern, with new fast trains coming and going every few minutes. I was heading outbound, however. Instead of a subway car, the mode of transportation was wooden platforms without any seating or railings. My platform, carrying an unknown woman and myself, left the station and immediately slammed into a brick wall. Luckily, I survived this accident with no injuries, and was able to navigate the debris and construction material at the left side of the station without being electrocuted. As the dream ended, a new wooden platform arrived. I prepared to board it, despite the fact it would clearly slam into the same brick wall as the last platform.
Last night, I dreamed that it was summer. I was content both because of the warm weather and because two childhood friends and I ran an organized crime syndicate that controlled the city. As I was being driven up Memorial Drive, I leaned back, looking at the brilliantly blue sky and feeling the sun on my face.
When we got to the hotel that was our destination, my driver (who was a member of my organization and I got out of the car, tried to blend in with the crowd to avoid attracting attention from the two federal agents staking out the building, and met my two friends. They were Edward Norton and Brad Pitt, decked out like rock stars in garish clothing (in obvious contrast to the muted tones of my clothes). We (Norton and his entourage - a stereotypical group of two street toughs and one sexy female assassin, Pitt, my driver, and myself) went to the top floor of the hotel in an elevator. On the way up, Norton explained to Pitt that the two of us had decided to kill him because he was attracting too much attention through his activities. At the top floor, we left him alone in the elevator, which then plunged to the bottom of the shaft.
As Norton took the other elevator back down, I walked with my driver down the steps. I confessed that I was having second thoughts about killing Pitt, and that perhaps it would have been better to kill Norton instead.