I had a dream that Philip K Dick called me on my cell phone at work, and was telling me what inspired him to write; I was listening, asking him questions, trying not to interrupt the conversation with mundanities like, “dude, you’re dead, how are you calling me?,” when I remembered my work’s security prohibits cell phones on premises. At that instant, a security guard saw me and approached, trying to confiscate my phone, and I ended up running around the UPS hub, over and under conveyor belts, trying to keep the conversation going.
I had a dream that I was a physician attending a young boy’s torture. Interrogators were water-boarding him. They had a mask on him which looked like antiquated scuba equipment and they hung him up by his toes with clamps, and he kept pointing at it to me, like, “It hurts! Take it off.” He didn’t understand that they were going to drown him. It was terrible.
Then I had a dream that I bought a bag of onions, and they were moldy.