The Wrong Door

Monday night

It was nighttime, and Andrew and I walked into a bowling alley in a bad part of town. The parking area out front was underneath another level of parking or roadway; it seemed that we had to drive down an incline to get there, and the claustrophobic nature of the entrace gave it a sense of foreboding. We walked in through the front door, and for some reason I then went to open a door to my immediate left. That was a mistake. The manager of the bowling alley, a black woman who appeared to be in her 30s, was in the middle of killing four people in a small room, using a large silver handgun. She took one look at me, and wasn't upset at being discovered. In fact, she turned to me and said something along the lines of, "Too bad there's no cops around!" Chaos ensued. I ran back outside, and realized that I'd become separated from my brother. I looked for him, but he was nowhere to be found. The parking lot was filled with several hopped-up "low-rider" automobiles, and the drivers sitting in them looked as if they'd be uninclined to help. Not knowing what to do, I ran out of the parking lot and across the street, into a pretty fancy hotel. Figuring that I would be followed, I looked frantically for somewhere to store my few valuables (such as my wallet), finally shoving them under a couch somewhere on the second floor.

*****

A rare nightmare. I almost never dream of killings, thank goodness.