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I'm in Grinnell, on campus, doing work, when all of a sudden, my friend from Dibble Hall, who doesn't drop acid, gave me a call inquiring as to LSD's effect on something I can't remember. I tell him not to worry, and, as soon as I hang up the phone, I am back home again. I reach into my pocket for the keys (which is funny, because I don't have a car), walk outside, and there she is, The Silver Bullet. She's back! I hop in and go for a cruise, blasting The Rolling Stones, windows down, the summer wind blowing on my face. For some reason, all at once, I am in the passenger seat. No one is driving the car! I begin to veer off of the Frontage road that connects Cleveland Avenue to Pierce Butler Route. I steer myself onto a side road, headed about forty, forty-five miles an hour, and now I'm dodging gasoline pumps. This is, like, a forest, a slalom of pumps. And I'm kicking some ass, because, well, it's a dream. But I can't reach the break pedal and, somehow, the gas pedal's stuck down and I'm gaining velocity. No sooner do I hit ninety than I crash into a pump. Everything stops. I jump out of the car and run. I get to a phone, start dialing, turn to look at the car, and bear witness to the coolest explosion of all time! Then Keegan and Emily are there laughing at me and my parents show up to take me home. My dad hits a patch of ice, because it has since transformed to winter, skids over two sets of tire-damage spikes and comes to a halt.

In the middle of a big ass car-crusher. The walls pop up on all four sides and turn the '96 Caravan-plus-family-of-four into a neat, little cube. I jump out, because I can, and turn around, expecting despair, but am instead greeted with another kickass explosion. When the dust settles, there's the Incredible fucking Hulk, and he's pissed, just yelling his ass off at no one in particular.

I decide that absolutely nothing can make this dream cooler, so I wake up to describe it to Charlie.

It was nuts.

Peace.
-Todd