Dice Club

I was hanging out with a teenaged Edward Norton in a high school. It wasn't any particular high school, more like a generic high school from some movie. We were trying to get into the locked corridors that that janitors used to move secretly around the school. We had managed to hack the computer security system, and enter in a fake PIN for a short period of time. As we were trying it out we heard some people coming, but we punched in the code and got into the room before they saw us.

I could hear the people talking, and realized it was the principal (an overweight fellow with dark hair) and the new janitor (who I'd never met, but somehow knew was a pretty-but-plain blonde lady). The principal was giving her a job orientation, and mentioned what her pass code for the locked corridors would be 2-0-3-6. This was great, because Ed and I now had a permanent code for the corridors, but it also meant they were coming in to the corridors so we had to high tail it out of there. We snuck through the secret corridors and out into the woods behind Charlottesville High School.

The next day in Algebra class at Walker Middle School we started organizing an underground student rebellion. Some other kid (an overweight pompous type) challenged us for leadership of the revolution, so we went down to the cafeteria to fight it out. The challenge was resolved with some dice game, which involved throwing the dice at your opponent. I beat the guy in the challenge. Norton and I were leading an angry mob of students into the locker area when I woke up.

But I was still dreaming.

I was in Jason McLeod's old room on Locust Ave. (East side), but it was my brother Kirk's apartment. I was waiting for Kirk, Mom, and Ryan to get back, and to kill time I was reading Cerebus #9, although the comic otherwise looked like Cerebus #51. After a while I stopped reading it and put it down on top of the plastic bag it had been stored in.

When Kirk and the others got home he noticed that the tape from the plastic bag had stuck to the cover of the Cerebus comic, and peeling it off stripping the ink from that part of the cover. He was really mad about it, and wanted to know who had been reading his comics. I owned up that I had done it, and promised to buy him a new copy of that issue. He pointed out that the issue is rather hard to find, especially since most of the comic shops have closed because of the recent economic downturn. He thought the comic shop near me might be a good place to try, though.

[Now this is interesting. The comic shop he is talking about is not a real comic shop: it's one that has shown up in several other dreams of mine. You get their by catching a bus at the corner of Monticello and Altavista in Belmont, which goes a few blocks out of Charlottesville and ends up in Rochester, NY. It's a big and wonderful comic shop that takes up several buildings, completely in contrast to the actual (sucky) comic shop in Rochester (at least when I was there)]

Ryan was confused and didn't understand what the problem was. We explained how the tape that hold comic storage bags closed often adheres to the comic itself, damaging the cover. By that time we needed to get ready to go to the rock concert at the bat perserve in Gainesville, FL. I put on my punk skull T-shirt that Kirk had made for me, which was drawn in a Southwestern Voodoo style. Mom was running around with a mesh bag full of orange onions, trying to make sure we had enough food.

That's when I really woke up.