buddha at the gas pump
I was a spindly, young Buddhist monk wearing a powder blue robe. Bald head, bare legs and feet. Prayer beads. I am at a gas station in Manasquan where there's an Acme in real life. It's on the corner of Main and Route 71 looking west-ish.
Night has fallen, I'm filling my waking life car's tank. As I look in my vehicle I find I'm packed for a very long trip, as the only space is for me in the driver's seat.
A trio of bikers thunder up 71, pull into the station and circle me and my car. Panicked, I pull the nozzle from my car and start spraying the thugs with gasoline. With a flick, I ignite them and continue soaking 'em.
Now they're really pissed.
"Fuck it," I think as I fumble and drop the gas cap. I hop in my car and speed away with the bikers in hot pursuit. The roads are slick with rain like a car commercial.
Wind up on the ground floor of a parking garage trying to find my motorcycle or moped or motor scooter. Dream memories of parking it among others flood back, but the garage is fuller than earlier so I'm lost.
Wandering up a level there's a makeshift radio booth covered with yellow banners. Cousin Brucie, toupee and all, is strutting around and calling everyone cousin. He's also really fat, unlike waking life. Recollection hits me: Behind the booth is the motorcycle storage area. I squeeze past Cousin Brucie to the back and see my moped's there wrapped in plastic.
As I'm pushing it free, the remaining biker, now on foot, spots me and gives chase. I hurry down a hall towards an elevator whose doors are sliding closed. My front tire stops them affording me means of escape.
A young woman in a purple long-sleeved top, jeans, and long, dirty blonde hair is running the elevator. Once I'm in, she hits the 'close door' button but the biker's meaty arm punches through to try and stop our journey. We push it out, the door closes, and we're off.
Despite heading up, the elevator door opens to the parking garage's ground floor.
The dream shifts. I'm kneeling by cabinets on a wall. There's a cabinet door on the other side and I'm passing nuts and fittings through them.
Scotty from Star Trek is crawling ahead of me, passing back fittings to me. I realize it's part of an escape plan and whomever's on the cabinets's other side need help. I toss the nickle plated fittings through two cabinets, crawl backwards, and close the doors. Sulu is crawling through the third while holding the fittings. He's grateful to be free but I'm uncertain if he escaped or merely returned from freedom.
Then I woke.