I had a dream last night. I was on a long bus ride to somewhere and at each of the stations that the bus stopped at I would get off, go inside the terminals and get coffee, or food, or just to stretch my legs. The interior of each of the terminals were set up like a stripmall sized flea markets, with booths and stacks of shit (for sale?) set up against the walls.

I kept finding copies of my old notebooks or individual pages with my handwriting on it, looking really ratty, or with burned edges, or crumpled up, with really shitty rough drafts of poetry/short stories written in them stacked up inside of big wire bins. I remember collecting a bunch of them in my arms and thinking "shit, i hope no one looked at these." The piles of stuff reminded me of the contents of a dumpster whenever I stopped to examine them.

Just before the dream ended, I was running to get back on the bus and saw it pulling out of the parking lot. I yelled and started throwing things at the windows to get it to stop. When I got to the door, I saw my neighbor Tony was driving and he wouldn't let me get on he asked me if I was "almost there" through the door. I had to tell him yes before he would open the doors enough for me to get inside.