The Dreambook Hath No Answers

It was a humid summer night, just before dark, outside a popular downtown Albany eatery (at a location where there is none). A CBS6 cameraman was shooting video from outside the plate glass windows. Everyone in the cramped restaurant, males and females, were wearing yarmulkes. A few couples were dancing. I bumped into a TV reporter outside and the two of us went over to a nearby park to investigate a beat-up Ford Crown Vic on the lawn. It looked like the steering-wheel airbag blew, but a closer look revealed a plastic bag had been stretched over the wheel. I thought to myself "obsessive-compulsive." My colleague and I knew the driver was a murderer but we had no proof. We hid when we saw him coming, accompanied by a 7 or 8 year old boy who was posessed by an evil entity. They drove off, revealing A partially unburied coffin. "Wonder who's in there," said my colleague. I answered "not me!" and woke up. My dreambook said, of coffin: "see casket" which means "sadness but not grief."

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