I keep having this dream, you know? Every once in a while I wake up in one of those, uh, cliche things, you know...

Cold sweat, man.

Right, right, cold sweat. So anyway, I'm in this cabin deep in the woods, a mountain cabin, and I'm being held prisoner there. With me is this woman I've never met before, and she's a captive too. I can't remember what the bad guys look like, but I keep seeing bearded guys with blurry eyes in my head. Throughout the dream, I'm trying to escape from this cabin with this woman, I don't even know her name, hell, I can't even remember what she looks like, but I get the feeling that I'd know her if I saw her again, you know?

Sure, it's like meeting someone at a party for five seconds and then seeing him a week later on the street, and you know the face, but you don't.

Exactly. So check it, right, I'm lookin' to bust outta this cabin, and somehow I get a hold of a couple of guns, and I blast my way out the front door, the first thing I'm thinking is, I gotta climb this steep hill and then run like every soul burning in hell is right on my ass, and so I'm yanking this girl, well, I started to, and then she strode ahead of me like I was friggin' standin' still, so she's pulling me, and we grab branches, tree trunks, bushes, whatever we can to pull us up the hill, and I can hear those bastards behind us, she's yelling, come on, come on, do you wanna die, and I say, no, but I'm outta shape, what do you want from me? Somewhere I find some more strength, I think maybe it's coming from her, and we reach the top. I don't dare look back because I don't want to know how close they are, and she tugs at my arm, let's go, we don't have much time, she says. Now we're standing on a paved road that wanders through the bush, and her sudden footsteps tow me along, the road is wet and shiny, like it just finished raining, and our shoes play the snare drums with each stride.

And the bad guys?

Well, I can hear a revving engine now, so they must be in a car or something, but we keep running like we can catch the wind and laugh, laugh, we laugh for no reason, together, holding hands as we pound the pavement, bones and flesh jarring against the stubborn blacktop, racing, and suddenly she jumps into a ravine and I follow her, and we tumble and roll to the bottom of a valley, my head splashing into a cold stream, gasping and spluttering and she's laughing again as she pulls me up, come on, it's not too far now, she smiles even as her eyes flicker back and forth expecting doom to waltz in from behind a tree. We follow the stream down the valley, hopping thick tree roots and bouncing from rock to stone to pebble, and it doesn't feel like the pounding in my chest is from the running anymore, so I take quick glances at her in between searching the ground for obstacles and checking for low-hanging branches, she seems familiar, but not because I've met her before, more like she is someone I was supposed to meet. I hear water falling close by, and we come up to a small cliff where the stream falls to a lake below, I look left and right and the cliff seems to go on forever in both directions, and the lake seems so far away. I turn to look at her and she is more beautiful than anything I am ever going to see in my life, she takes both my hands, whispers, trust me, we jump...

And you wake up.

And I wake up. Thinking that I'm about to hit the water. But I don't do any of the dramatic stuff like bursting from my pillow and sitting up with that 'rabbit caught in the headlights' look.

That's pretty wild.

I don't want to think about what it all means, though, except that I wish I knew who this dream-woman is.

I think you've put your finger right on it, man. 'Dream-woman'. You said yourself that she was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. That shit only happens in dreams.

Maybe, maybe not. The frustrating thing is that I can't remember what her face looked like. I can see... blonde hair... piercing eyes... but nothing else. If only I could...

Wait a second, man, what if that's it? What if your subconscious is telling you that her beauty is more than just how well-constructed her face is, you know what I'm sayin'? It's all that sensitive stuff about how beauty is what's inside, etcetera, etcetera.

Yeah, maybe. So tell me your dream.

Okay, so there's no beginning, like your dream, I just seem to hit it in the middle of the movie. I'm running along the shore of this lake, it must be up north 'cause there are cottages and small beaches and trees and other cottage country shit, right? And there's something behind me, right behind me, so close I can feel his stinky breath on my back, stinks of cigar smoke and pork rinds, something like that, sometimes his hand will swing at me and brush my hair or the back of my shoe, that's when I run harder, and when I say run, I mean everywhere, through everything. I run through cottages, opening one door, slamming it behind me only to hear it being slammed open again, tripping over couches and chairs and tables, regaining my footing just in time to burst through another door and find the shoreline again, now I'm leaping over tree roots and branches, jumping up onto rocks that jut out into the water, leaping over little mini-valleys that midget streams cut into the soft sandy earth, and there are times when I trip and fall, my pursuer's breathing gets louder and louder as I struggle back up, and time stands like a pillar for ages before I get my feet moving again.

But he never catches you?

So close, man, so close, but I always get up in time to start running again. When I say always, though, that doesn't mean that I count on it. I hit the beaches and the sand grabs at my feet, trying to hold me, I can see sandman hands grasping for me and I do the funky chicken across the sand, skipping and hopping to avoid the hands that grasp, hands, man, that are right behind me, hungry, I swear the stinky breath is comin' from those hands, all they want is me to eat, and I run, run, run until my legs don't feel like a part of me, they pump back and forth and I watch them with the casual detachment of a couch potato, look, kids, what a great show, huh, and you thought that spinning plates on pool cues was impressive, check this out. Finally I trip on something, a chair, a root, a hand, and I sprawl with the sudden knowledge that this is the last one, I'm not getting up in time, this is the moment when lies and truth come together in chaotic harmony, the hands are screaming my name as they touch me...

And you wake up.

And I wake up, but I can't get back to sleep for at least an hour, because I'm afraid that as soon as I close my eyes, whoever or whatever owns those hands will finish the job of catching me, and then my eyes will stay closed.

Man, that's rough. Who do you suppose is chasing you?

Shit, man, I don't really want to think about it. You think too much about dreams, and you could end up paranoid or a head case, you know?

As long as neither of us takes any mind-altering drugs, we should be fine, don't you think?

Right. Now let's talk about something else, before I start obsessing on this dream thing. I do that, and I'll have this dream tonight for sure...