i'm a self-important thief, but not glad about it

4th of july party in the back yard, lots of starch, cheese, and booze

this dream seems to have featured the music of James Intveld and Marti Brom, fromt he _Billy, Vol 1_ disk Josh was playing last night. "Cryin' Over You" and "Eat My Words," respectively.

I live in a place that seems almost like a TV set or a colony of some sort, everything right there, centered around a twisting, steep road. Everything in sight is owned or defacto controlled by the big man in town, and you can tell he's around right now, because of all the activity. There's even a semi truck maneuvering in and out of tight spaces, the big man's name emblazoned on the black side in gold cursive letters: Pabst. I think all of the hubbub is ostentatious and stupid, and I say so to someone, but I'm hushed and there seems a real fear that one could get in trouble for such talk.

The close street is densely populated with cafes and cars and people, a sort of modern mediterranean architecture with tall walls around courtyards and archways and portals (spanish), most in a dark salmon red stucco, also whites. Bustle.

I meet my neighbors. We have houses with large plots that terrace up or down away from the main street, seperated by cobbled together wooden structures and mesh netting. They are new to this place, and are growing head lettuces. A married couple, man and woman, we greet each other and go through pleasantries. Sometime later, I am with a friend in a small amphitheater or tiny stadium. I'm going on and on about how I don't like to talk to people I don't know, that there is no point in meaningless conversations with a person you'll never see again. I realize that my new neighbors are sitting behind us, and I genuinely wasn't meaning anything like the conversation & pleasantries we had had earlier. I turn around, and say, "But then, take these fine people here, who are my neighbors, and we are going to know each other, so it is worth it to have conversations with them." It isn't coming out very well, and the woman especially seems rather uncomfortable and off-put. I'm not certain I can rescue this situation.

I go to lunch in one of the cafes along the road, the white one with all the flowers and colorful everything. The service is absolutely terrible. I do get something to eat, maybe it's a buffet of some sort, but then I simply can't get my server to bring me a check. I have money ready, I want to get out the door, but no one will help me. A man with a pushbroom is sweeping the restaurant, and out from under a table he knocks a tab book. I snatch it up and find that it has a bill, a man's credit card with an american flag design on it, and a large handful of money. I immediately decide to steal the cash outright. There's a few 5's, a 10, a 20, and a 40 dollar bill, and maybe more. The money is strange colors, the 40 is purple. I decide to leave enough cash to cover the bill in the book, at least the bill is covered and they won't run the card. I know I'm ripping off...who? Probably the guy the card belings to, since there's no reason for so much cash to be in the book. I gotta stuff the cash in my pocket fast, though, cuz finally my server is buzzing around my table. I feel kinda quilty, kinda not. She whispers in my ear.