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Dream Report: Accidental Fugitive

I occasionally recount my last night’s dream on oppo if it’s somehow car-related. Here we go again:

I was summoned to a soccer field/construction site for some reason, and found it to be off the side of a highway at the bottom of a steep embankment. I was driving a Mercedes Sprinter work van and somehow decided that driving straight off the side of the road down the slope was the best way to get there.

I got the front wheels off the pavement to the grassy slope and then topped the van on the precipice, apparently stranding myself with no wheels on the ground. Then I discovered that this model was equipped with a “sport hillclimb” transmission, activated with paddle shifters that would drop the rear axle several inches and get me going again. I regained traction and made it to the bottom of the hill, where I engaged the other paddle to do the same with the front suspension and get me back on level ground.

Now at the work site, where my role was yet undefined, I was approached by two men in hard hats who asked me to follow them. We walked about 50 yards to a spot where 4 people were lying face down on the ground.

“Wake them up.” Ah, so that’s my purpose.

I just stood there. “Well, have you tried? What’s wrong with them?”

“Too lazy to work.”

I approached one, rolled a shoulder slightly up, and noticed a pool of blood and a semiauto pistol underneath the body.

I looked up at my supervisors, only to see the two of them walking briskly back toward the Sprinter. I discreetly pocketed the pistol in my Puma sweatpants (dream detail, don’t question it), and shouted to them:

“Dead. Probably all of them.”

The two broke into a run toward the van.

“Hey!” Pulled the gun, steadied and pulled the trigger. Nothing in the chamber. Fiddle, slide, click, pose, pull, and a puff of dust comes off the shoe of the smaller guy, round-headed buzz cut under his hard hat. He stops, hands up, repeatedly glancing at the smoking crescent at the edge of the sole of his right boot.

I shout to the other guy, lanky, taking longer steps, about to grab the door handle of the van. “Stop!”

He pauses, hands up, and I approach. I step around the two stationary figures and climb in the van. “Hey, Siri...” The sprinter also has Apple CarPlay, “Engage covert camper mode.”

Gears turn, hydraulics extend, and electric foleys buzz and whirr in my ears as the van transforms into a full single-wide trailer home, complete with striped awnings and flower beds on all 4 sides. The process takes only a couple minutes, and at the end I hear sirens and see blue lights cresting the precipice of the highway above.

The police are very professional and thorough in their investigation of the scene (which the two men have since fled), except for the fact they don’t perceive the presence of the trailer home at all.

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Other With-a-G is back to not having anything written after his username's posts

February means time for a specific breed of poetry, right? February means time for a specific breed of poetry, right?

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