Weird dreams this weekend, probably on account of being really sick and dehydrated. They all jumble together in the haze of morning-after forgettening, but some high points stick out.
I was running a convention in a hotel lobby, LobbyCon. The Xs were there, as was "Carrie", who was not a particular person so much as a strange amalgam of all the Carries I know in real life, which is surprisingly many. At some point during LobbyCon we had to go out and make a liquor store run in The Whale, which is what my old Lincoln Towncar was affectionately nicknamed. This was not to buy liquor, but rather to buy a bunch of old books about liquor that I had ordered from the public library, because what more natural place to buy a stack of antique books about liquor than the liquor store. Once there, an old woman attempted to browbeat me into selling her one of those books, an illustrated 1895 edition of... I don't remember. Darn.
On the way back from the liquor store we decided to stop by a viciously violent home invasion in progress to, um, help out? It was important that we masquerade as criminals, anyway, so that the real criminals didn't suspect us and murder us. We ended up being one of the two getaway cars, only halfway willingly. Then Xray killed some dude with a hatchet to the back of the head -- it's OK, I think he was a bad guy -- and we got into a massive car crash on the outskirts of Chinatown, where I fled to avoid both police and criminals. It wasn't a real Chinatown, though, but rather a cyberpunk neon-lit Blade Runneresque Chinatown.
So that was strange.
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