More Dreaming...

A meteorite streaks across the sky high above the compact car that I am driving in. I can see its dramatic, smoky trail as it shoots high above us in the same direction. I point it out to my companion (my wife?). We're driving along a residential street, and because of it's height and speed I assume that it will end up hundreds of kilometers from where we are.

Moments later the iron clump, about the size of a bowling ball, and decidedly lumpier lands on the street just ahead of us with a dull thud and begins to bounce. At his point I am excited and desperate to have the meteorite. It bounces down the street (at a rate much slower than one would expect of an object falling from the sky) and into a yard on the left hand side of the street. I was surprised given the obvious velocity with which the heavenly body was traveling, just how lazily it bounces across the front yards of the houses lining the street.

I watch as the meteorite bounces to a stop, at the last moment hopping a small fence wrapped around an air conditioning unit at the side of a small bungalow. It bugs me that the object is so close to a house because I feel like now picking it up will be stealing from the house owners. My determination causes me to speed across the lawns, following the path of the object, and come skidding to a hand-brake assisted stop on the houses drive-way right next to where the lump ended up. I pop the hatch-back trunk of the small car and look over the small knee-high fencing and see the object in pieces. I expect it to be scalding hot but am singularly focused on scooping up all the pieces as quickly as I am able. For some reason I now seem to be wearing gloves which is a great help given the unproven, but very likely heat of the object.

As I throw pieces into the back of the car my companion says that the house owners are now watching - I look towards the side door, which I am very near to, but see only the dark door masking whoever might be inside. I finish piling the pieces into the car and speed away.

End.


I recall only being in a cement floored retail store with very high metal shelves on either side of me - very warehouse like. The floor is flooded up to knee level and for some reason I think nothing of spitting. An employee sees me do that and makes a face implying intense disapproval. Jump to the same space, now unflooded - I have the sense that its soon afterward. She points to a spot on the floor, seemingly to imply that my spitting resulted in a mess on the floor. I nudge the spot with my foot and discover that it is in fact a piece of garbage and not my spit.