i was on a transit bus with my two best friends, a non-descript black kid and a stereotypical orthodox jewish kid, complete with glasses. these two are based on nothing in my actual life, as growing up in minnesota rules out either ethnicity. the bus was traveling down an l.a.-style freeway, with overpasses and underpasses interweaving like spaghetti. my jewish friend started messing with the bus driver, to the extent that the bus got out of hand, causing such chaos that even the airplane routes above us were disrupted. the bus pulled over on the road and the three of us got out. above us, the sky was full of large commuter planes, going every which way like a scattered flock of seagulls. and they were quite low to the ground, too. one plane actually had to do an emergency landing not far behind us. this was our cue to get our of here, and we scrambled back on the bus. i jumped in the driver seat, as the bus was nearly empty before, and the driver was now gone. we sped down the freeway like a bus with a bomb on it, weaving in between cars until we came to a bus station that looked more like a new york train station. still desperate to avoid being caught, we parked and immediately bolted from the bus, scattering to hide wherever we could. i ran up a narrow brick stairwell, where i could easily see the train tracks. when the coast seemed clear, the three of us ran back to the bus and took it back down the interstate to safety.
my alarm went off at 7:46, and i lay in bed, listening to the morning show, eventually drifting off again.
i was sitting in my basement bedroom, circa high school. seated in the floor with me were a 12-year old boy and clint eastwood. we turned to notice that an extremely large and vicious dog had snuck in through the window. all of this would never have happened, had the window been where it usually was all those years. the boy quietly asked for his cap gun and loaded it, while mr eastwood and i were too polite to explain that it's very difficult to shoot something without actually firing a projectile. the boy put the little red plastic ring in the gun and fired, and the dog vanished; it just blinked away.
in fact, the dog looked more like a "warg" from the lord of the rings, which makes sense, as i was now in the midst of the warg battle from the two towers, only now the battle was scaled down to fit on a small hillside park in san francisco, not far from the ghirardelli choloclate store. i held two swords and fought as best i could, while aragon and legolas fought a short distance from me.
we had defeated our attackers when someone yelled "get down" and we all dropped to the grass. a camoflauged car drove buy, full of military men looking for us. the guy in the back seat had a camera, although whatever production designer had given him that prop obviously didn't do his research; it was an older 35mm movie camera, completely wrong for this scenario.
when the van left, we stood back up and i wandered around the street corner. my left leg seemed numb, and i looked to see a small stain of darken blood on my calf. it was only a small scratch; not enough to be of any concern. then i noticed a much larger and brighter area of blood on my camo pants, near the back of my knee. someone again yelled, "get down!" and i dropped to the cobblestone street gutter. a pair of black boots came to a stop in front of me, and i looked up to see a man who looked not unlike esteban of the "anyone can play guitar" infomercials. he helped me up and led me to a nearby shop keeper who could sharpen my swords. i handed them to the smith, and he noted that my sword blades were, in fact, snow skis, and that the left one was made of extremely flimsy plastic. he offered to trim them both for me.
there was a third dream, but i can't remember a spot of it.
i dislike sleeping in so late, but getting dreams like this in return doesn't make it so bad.