beating up a husky kid & losing my glasses

Fresca salad with mushrooms as a piadine, little bit of cheesecake with cherries, some Candy Lady fudge, lots of water.

I've gone on a trip, to a city I've dreamed about before. (Yellowish, plastic, futuristic, almost Jetson's-like from a distance.) I am returning home, perhaps by way of some great airiship, which looks like a mall inside and even docks at the mall in Albuquerque. I am hanging out in a "museum," on the ship, which is a largish room that reminds me of an airport waiting room, but there is a grid of cot-like sleeping platforms, and people's stuff is scattered around in little piles. The walls are beige.

There is this big kid, who looks kind of native Alaskan [I know, that's a worthless description]-- probably 18 years old or so, but a husky guy, both tall and quite powerfully built. He maybe isn't quite retarded, but he's probably "slow" and has some behavioral problems. He's with his family, his mother and father. (Father played here by a PNM guy I served at the restaurant yesterday.) The kid is aggressive to me for some reason, and comes up and clubs me on the back from behind. I grudgingly let it go. But then he does something else I don't remember (hurts some kid's pet, just to be cruel?) and I flip. I charge across the room and sock him in the face, knock him down, grab him by the hair and slam his head repeatedly against the wall, knock him out.

Skip to people taking the kid away in a gurney. I'm talking to the dad. I express wonder that he isn't pressing charges. He responds that, "I assume he hit you first." To which I say (not certain if it's a fabrication or not in the dream, but I think it's bes to dress it up), "He hit me a FEW times." I feel a feeling like acid reflux in my ear canal, and I say, "I think he reputured my eardrum." The dad wonders what that feels like, I tell him it's like having lava swelling in your ear.

The airship has arrived at the mall in Albuquerque. I disembark and go to my car, start loading up, still pretty amped up. Just then Shane drives up in a blue car (Jason Foutz's car), I flag him down, ask if he will drive me home. I climb in, leave most of my stuff in my car. Shane tells me that he's been undergoing some sort of radiological treatment on his legs. I look and he's wearing this wierd, plastic, dog-boy-style underwear and his exposed legs are thin, pale, and bistered. Sickly. We driving around and he crosses one leg up so I can see him peel the whole of the skin of a big toe back to reveal meat beneath. He of course thinks it's kind of cool, but I'm really horrified.

He takes me home. People are around, I don't want to talk. I go into my room, which is small, wooden plank floors, has a very shack-ish feel to it. I'm milling around, and I realize that if I want to go out for drinks tonight I have to get my stuff, and for fuck's sake, I left my glasses in my car, I'm wearing my sunglasses. Can I get a ride back, please? But then, where exactly did I leave my car? Wait, where did I put my stuff? Shit, are my glasses & flight lost?

Dream degenerates into a basic anxiety loop from here, though I do eventually remember where my car was and I'm pretty sure my stuff will be in it.