In my dream, I lay in a hammock that stretched across the street between two light posts.  It was high enough that people and cars could carry about their business without interruption.  It swayed differently, head to toe, as opposed to side to side.

As I fell into a trance in my loving cocoon above the streets of Toronto, the warm tears gently streamed down my face… at the loss of my best friend.

The dream carries on at a cottage/beach resort and all goes out of whack from there.  The gist of it was a group of friends and strangers rushing across the lake on individual jet skis to take a  Zumba class, and because there weren’t enough jet skis some of us missed it so we floated over on water tubes to eat the buffet lunch instead. Run on sentence. Run on dream.


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