I was having a very lovely dream with lots of surfing a giant river that flowed up and down the streets of an unknown city. It was very uplifting, buoyant, beautiful and fun.
We (I don't know who *we* were) stopped at a house where a stranger was very kind and generous, feeding and caring for us, kind of like the kindness of the strangers I met in New Orleans even though many were tired of the tourists. We hung out for a while, enjoying the company and delights of meeting a nice person, until it was time to go.
We walked out to my truck that was waiting outside somehow, still in a soporific warm stupor of a lovely dream, and I got into the truck.
There was Damien dead in the middle seat, with two of those identical condiment squeezy tubes, one yellow for mustard, one red for ketchup, stuffed in his mouth.
I awoke in a raging panic to realize that i had stopped breathing for a while, during the good parts of the dream, and this was my mind trying to wake me up to start breathing again!
Yikes.
Uh... thanks for saving my life, Cupcake!
I'll never look at those squeezy tubes the same again.