I dreamt the front left wheel came off of our “good” car.

Looked easy enough to fix, but it wasn’t, and I went ahead and made things worse by removing other parts by accident which caused various bolts to fall to the ground and become lost.

Later I was driving up a narrow street, one which resembles the tight corridors in Seaside Heights lined with cheapo bungalows. I learned Cynthia lived there, but I wanted to avoid her. At one point she walked out of one of those homes, greeted me with “Hello husband” and it kinda weirded me out.

Chris S.
Anomalist, esperantist, cyclist, typist, dodecaphile, ailurophile, and oneiromancer. Chris lives near the shore with his wife, cats, and the Jersey Devil in his backyard.

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