I dreamed of a 1980s-style-cheesy version of Blade Runner. Harrison Ford was still in it. But good grief the cheese. Replicants had clocks on their foreheads. And at a certain moment Mr. Tyrel asked, "What time is it?" and, without thinking about it, the unsuspecting Deckard pulled away the patch of camouflaging plastic and leaned over to see his forehead in the river...
Yesterday night I dreamed that I was in college and I had not even started to make the little terracotta model city I was supposed to have made for my class project, and it was Sunday evening, and I was going to ditch the next two days of class in order to throw it together. Or so I told myself.
Somewhere in there I was riding a moped - apparently illegally, or at least awkwardly, I don't think I had the skills to do it - and, which is almost believable for me, I was reading as I rode, this lovely huge paperback propped on the handlebars. I had only intended to ride a short distance across town... but when I finished the book and looked up, I found that I was on a freeway, just entering Billings, Montana, very far from home.