I’m in the middle of nowhere, a landscape very reminiscent of California’s Central Valley, driving my car with the stereo turned up, deep in my own thoughts and not looking at instrument panel when I notice I’ve missed a turn I’m supposed to take. I double back, make my turn and start to accelerate, but nothing happens.
The car will still drive but won’t do more than about 20 mph. I pull over to figure out what to do about my car. I’m in a casino. The phone rings. It’s a reader who ordered special RKP-embroidered boxers. I recall his name and tell him I mailed them out before departing for a trip.
And in this dream, I have business partners. One is the son of an old industry friend. As it turns out, the reader who is calling me is standing next to me in the elevator and is flabbergasted to meet me. We both marvel at the coincidence of location.
The meeting takes moments. Nothing is decided. Everyone leaves.
I’m left to drive away from the middle of nowhere in a car stuck in first gear.