8:00 - I wake back up after one of the stranger dreams I've had in a while...
So, I'm in what appears to be a grocery store or something, and this Mexican guy is pushing two carts. One rolls towards me, and it has a small baby in it, and I stop it for him. The other cart has an even smaller child in in it, tiny. I tell him not to worry, I caught it, he smiles, and I mention that I can watch the baby if he would like me to. He says 'sure', but offers to trade carts and have me watch the itty bitty one, who is crying. I switch carts, and in the second cart the child, no more than maybe 3 months, is under a covering of some sort, held down with Velcro. I get an edge up, and cannot get it to go back properly. Mumbling that I hate those covers, I stick a hand down. The baby gets the end of my finger in his mouth and starts to suck on it. The Mexican guy hands me a bottle, and I deftly swap the bottle for my hand. I ask him if he needs me to watch the kid longer, and he mentions he'd pay me ten bucks to do so. I say OK, reach in, pick up the child's head and leave. Yes, just the head.
Back home (my old house in Nashville), carrying around the head of this 3-month old baby, I wait. The head is quiet relaxed, happy, and talkative. he's wearing little tiny glasses, but they don't appear to do much, so I take them off. I also have some strange shaped object in my hand that came from the baby, but I'm not sure what it is, something that was on his face after he finished the bottle. Anyway, the head and I talk for a while, (it seems to get smaller and less defined as the time passes), and I start to sing to it. With a simple kind of tune, I sing "sleep, sleep, sleep; dream, dream, dream; la la la; la la la; sleep, sleep, sleep; dream, dream, dream; la la la la laaaaa". The head joins me on the "la la la" parts, and begins to look a little like some sort of claymation head, but I tell it that it looks like Homestar Runner (I start to ask if it's ever seen any, then remember that it's just the head of a three-month old child).
For the curious, I did look at the neck stump a couple times. No blood, just a smooth edge to the skin, and flesh-tone internal muscles within, with a hole for the throat that is empty, and a knob of white bone where the spine is. The child didn't seem to be bothered by this, but I didn't go poking a finger around in there. I remember wondering at one point if it would just heal up quickly when set back on the body or what.
About this time, I notice that the Mexican guy has just pulled up. I go downstairs, and reach the front door just as he walks into the house. I hand him the head, which is is quite happy to get back, and I hand him the glasses and the odd object as well. I walk out to his truck with him, where he puts the head in the car, and we talk for a few minutes, about the fact that I was more than happy to help out, since I can't have kids of my own, and I ask about the child, how old he really is, etc.
Parked next to the Mexican is a silver car, unknown make, but expensive. A man, apparently drunk is standing there, talking about things not going right for him. I start to listen as the Mexican guy drives off. He mentions, among other things, that whatever he's babbling about was 'just after he'd been sent to jail for political reasons'. I start to walk away, but turn back around. The man is now a woman (you know how dreams are) and I ask what she meant by 'political reasons'.
She's now standing next to a guy who looks a little like one of my high school English teachers. She goes on to say that during the last mayoral election, she went a little crazy and did some stuff after someone else (name escapes me) put up all those extra signs, so she taped them up with duct tape. I ask "you were in the mayoral election? who are you?" She babbles on about the person whose name I can't remember, and as I start to give up and walk off, she says "haven't you ever heard of Lane J. Bryant?" Apparently, this sparks a memory in my head, because I turn back.
The man there is now berating the woman (apparently Ms. Bryant), and I call him by name and tell him to shut up (I think he is her former mayoral opponent). he points to a name tag on his shirt, and tells me to look closer, as his name is really Gerry (same last name as the guy I thought). "OK, GERRY, shut the fuck up." He pulls out a pencil, asks if he can ask me a question, and looks like he's gonna stab me with it, so I grab his wrist, and yank it towards me, ducking under it and turning; this results in a shoulder throw, but an awfully slow one, strangely enough. He lands on his face, and gets back up, seemingly angry, and I say that if we are gonna continue this, let's step inside the house we are now in front of (not mine).
Inside, I yell at him to drop the pencil. There are several people in here, but they back off. He drops the pencil, and gets right up in my face, points a finger at me, and asks "Did you take my shoes?" I grab his hand and flip him again, this time off to the side, where he slides across the marble floor a little and ends up under a shelf or bench or something, not moving. I stand there, stare at his feet protruding out from under this thing, and say "I've been to New Orleans, you know. I recognize those shoes, too." Apparently, this is the punch line to some joke that I thought he was about to tell me, and the fact that all this was for a bad joke pissed me off. I turn to Di, shake my head as if to say "fuckin' humans", and we leave.
We get in a car and drive for home, and on the radio, I hear a DJ relating a funny story he just heard, which starts with one guy asking another "did you steal my shoes?", but which ends completely differently than the one I have heard before, and is actually kinda funny...and I wonder if THIS is the one Gerry was gonna tell me.