Poorly planned catering

tofu stirfry, 2 ice cream sandwiches, colt 45

I'm downtown delivering food and material for a catering job in a place that is actually my parents' home on the inside but a darth vader highrise on the outside. My brother is there, too. We didn't know that we were supposed to serve the food as well, and while Eric is wearing nice enough clothes, I'm in my smirnoff painting shirt and cruddy boots. Since it is my parents' house, I know where I might find some nicer clothes to wear. I go to Eric's old closet, which is empty, but shirt begin to multiply once I'm searching about. I find a white garment that I think is a chef's coat but then turns out to be some wierd tuxedo shirt, left over from Eric's wedding. I find a nice enough shirt and put it on.

But then we leave the party, after maybe serving a little bit, not sure. Back to my house, and soneone has pulled up a giant tractor trailer up in my front yard with a junked mobile home on the flatbed. The woman driver doesn't seem interested in talking about the situation. I try to light a cigarette, but my zippo is out of fluid. I go to the sink to refill, but when I pull the case out it is full of fluid that pours on my hands on onto the floor. I realize that the wick is the problem, and try to manipulate it, but it is a large piece of orange and brown yarn and ends up pulling out. I am frustrated and increasinly uneasy, especially about the truck in my yard.

Something is obviously amiss, we-- Josh and myself, maybe?-- get in the car and take off out of town. On the highway, the median is lined with red painted concrete parking bumpers. Someone has pulled on out into the road, long-ways; no time, we glide right over it with only a minor scrape under the car. And then there are more, the left lane is full of them at all manner of angles. I veer off into the right lane, other cars and skidding off the road, and the right land is soon full of piles of debris, mostly cloth it seems. It's the act of some insurrectionary movement, the first move toward disrupting and taking over the region. At high speed still, I realize that the road has been washed out, no time to stop. We go flying right over an arroyo, me shouting at the top of my lungs. A Dukes of Hazard move. But then Josh says, "We just drove over a bridge." He is right.