Buckets Of Rain

So, here's hoping that the rain stops, or at least isn't happening at the beach, I'm heading out there in a matter of hours.



I had this really wierd dream, where I was going around Carborro with Amanda, only I was a sort of pariah in the town and I was Bart Simpson. No one wanted me inside of their stores/bars/restaurants. So I had to sit outside and wait. A dog chased me away from Orange County Social Club, so I started walking aimlessly around town. I ran into my friend Melissa, and we hung out on the streets, giving fake shortcuts to all the people riding their bikes. Eventually a bike enforcement agent came by, and started hasslin' us. He told us to throw all of our ice into the ice recycling machine. It was a long chute in the middle of a sidewalk, a slow moving metal conveyer belt inside the chute. As I'm dumping the ice down the chute, I knock a few plastic food containers below the chute. I look up and now Melissa's the bike enforcement agent, and she's writing me a series of tickets. "I'm writing you up for littering!" Which seems silly to me, I have this idea that I'm more environmentally aware than she is, so I feel that I have some leeway in knocking some plastic under a large moving metal device. No such luck, I stick my arm down the hole and pull up pounds and pounds of plastic food containers, she throws out the ticket. We walk into the back of a restaurant, and it's staffed by the kitchen staff of my restaurant. Jair, the lunch cook in our regular universe, hands me a cheap plastic acoustic guitar. I quickly bang out a really loud White Stripes song, "Screwdriver". I add the lyrics from their song "Cannon", the part about John The Revelator.