I had a dream that Charles Bukowski wrote a book in the key of B. He began the book by writing a sentence that used words in alphabetical order from A to Z. The first word started with an A, the second word started with a B, and so on.
Later in the dream I was in Virginia, or some place like that, eating outside at a wooden picnic table, under tall trees. There was a silver platter with wood charcoal and good size pieces of BBQ meat before me. Hobos who walked up from the highway were trying to steal my food when I wasn't looking. They were shifty people, mean spirited and hungry. I said in my dream, these people are worse than Mexicans.
Next, I was playing music in a hillbilly punk-rock band. The bass player was standing far off on the other side of the room. There was a giant television screen behind him. When we finished playing he turned on the television and loaded up a video game to check his bass score. Eighty-six percent. I thought that was pretty good.
