1) An old girlfriend and I are having dinner in my childhood home. Out the kitchen window a hearse passes by. We start up from the table in shock, only to see that an undertaker who looks like Jim from The Office is knocking at the door.
2) I am conducting a cake walk (with a giant white cake as a prize) for what I think are washed up 70's TV stars. It is difficult to tell because every time I try to get a good look at them, I fuck up the record player and they all sit down quickly. The music is a variety of Guy Lombardo, The Smiths, and unrecognizable generic 70s pop rock. There is a little person competing in the cake walk and he swears at me. At one point, I decide that I hate the record I am playing and look for another in the cabinet beneath the record player. I find a broken copy of a Guy Lombardo 78 which I apparently purchased on eBay. Tired of waiting, Farah Fawcett grabs the cake and runs out the door.
3) I am on the side of the road by a guardrail and am in my 20s. I am wearing a contemporary woolen ski cap, giant headphones connected to one of those mod black and thin iPods, a black tee shirt with a white skull on it, and expensive jeans. I have longish black hair with curly locks. Clearly I am not myself. A shiny spot catches my eye in the guardrail and I see that something has been shoved between the seam where metal overlaps the wood. I pull on the hooked end of the gold and it slides out. It turns out to be an earring shaped like an icon for the Buddha of Boundless Light. The music in my headphones swells to a fever pitch. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I cannot place it. The guitar drones into a wail. While I am admiring the golden earring cupped in my palm, a vagrant has ridden up on his bike. HE hops off, letting it fall into the road. He has a white cane meant for the blind and says something. I don't hear him because of the headphones. He says something again and hits my leg with the cane.
I pull my headphones down onto my neck.
"You gotta have something like jerky or chips, man!"
He is asking for food, I surmise.
"Sorry I don't."
"Oh yeah! What's in that bag." He hits my backpack with his cane and it suddenly changes into a switchblade. He threatens me with the knife with a snear.
"Get the fuck out of here!" I yell (and I think I did yell this in my sleep as when I awoke seconds later I swear I heard the words ringing in my ears.) In a deft move I take the knife from him. He begins to cry, his yellow teeth glaring through cracked lips in the harsh sunlight.
I was powerfully hungry when I was startled awake. I had a breakfast of steak and eggs (without the eggs).