me and steve get high and go for a run

belgian waffles, soysage, water, bowl of cereal for dessert

Long, rambling, multi-part dream, might be pieces of several dreams I'm conflating.

At a restaurant and hotel in the mall with my soccer team. I have some secret that I'm trying to keep from my mom, who is also with me. I go into the big lockerroom/bathroom. I take a crap and flush, but I don't flush the toilet for some reason. Someone comes in in a bit, while I'm getting myself ready in front of the mirror [?], and they flush the toilet and it overflows--and I mean overflows. Somehow a thin slurry of sewage gets absolutely everywhere. The person (a girl) is mad at me for some reason. Don't you pay attention to the toilet you use, I ask? Why did you use that toilet that was already [err] full? Sorry I didn't flush, but...

The restaurant has closed down while all of this is going on, as in gone out of business. Down a hallway there is great expectation and Joanne comes through a door, all light and vaseline lense style. Everyone seems to celebrate her arrival. A crowd had gathered during the bathroom drama, and we all exit into the restaurant, all the furniture is gone, the place is a big, empty room. (I think it's the space at Winrock Mall where the dollar store used to be, which was later a halloween store.) The woman who runs the place is lamenting, but they might try to re-open soon.

I end up at the grocery, trying to get the shopping done, and there's something about arranging art, too. I think there are Mike Egan pantings involved, trying to get them lit properly. Steve is there with me, and we have plans for hijinks as soon as we can cut loose from this place. We're moving through the store with a basket but not actually shopping. I have a huge hunk of acid in my pocket, as well as a tallboy of some crappy malt liquor. I start trying to surreptitiously break up the acid for us. At first, it's just a sheet the size of a playing card, light blue. I hope Steve doesn't think it's bunk, cuz I know he's used to the nice gel-cap stuff back up in Vancouver where he's from. But then it changes into, literally, a hunk-- light blue packing foam the size and shape of half of the top part of a hamburger bun. It's deeply scored in quarter inch squares, all the way down through, making for some really big pieces up in the middle. I tear off the edge shred and the adjoining smaller square, just like that for each of us. We pop it, and I pop my tallboy. I wonder what that's going to be like.

We take off, heading back toward my parent's house. The grocery seemingly was the one at Ventura and Wyoming, and we have to cross the Academy campus to get where we're going. It's night, and Steve is dressed all in black, kind of punk rock kid style, trim black pants, tight black shirt, scally cap. [I saw this very kid on the way to Smiths last evening.] We're moving along a wierd road, tree lined with a raised, broad, compacted stone path between, but the cars actually drive along the outside of the trees. We hope they keep where they're supposed to. We break into a a jog, then into a run, just trying to cover the distance. I hope that we can keep our shit together when we get to my parents'. The acid is starting to kick in, we're getting giggly and the mild beer buzz on top is a nice addition. Laughing and chatting and shooting the shit as we run along this compacted stone path.