Thomas Jefferson Stole My Clothes

I went down to Iron Crown's offices on High St., but it's not the two houses. It's a ramshackle set of offices built into some old stables. I don't have any clothes so I walk down the row of offices dressed in two towels. I sling one towel over my shoulder toga style, and I am surprised at how comfy it is. I get to where Coleman sits, but he's not in. There is just an old flannel shirt draped over a ratty wheeled office chair. Bruce's door is closed, but I can tell he is not in. That's fine, I came here for my clothes, not a confrontation.

I turn left at Bruce's office and head back through a storage area to where the offices connect to Monticello. I keep walking back through areas alternating between storage and museum. The path I'm using depends on knowing the right doors to go through, so not many people know about it. The storage areas are dimly lit and dusty, full of wooden boxes painted shades of blue and gray. The museum areas are a little better lit. They're full of fancy chairs that would break if you sat on them and old paintings in elaborate gilt frames, each with a little light attached to the top of the frame. I can see out the windows on my left to a large field with trees and people having fun playing frisbee and bocce ball.

Somewhere along the way I realize I am dressed in my street clothes, which I must have gotten from one of the storage areas. I'm also carrying some heavy, odd-shaped object covered in black vinyl. The museum is closed, but hear some lady walking around looking at the paintings. I get a glimpse of her and her short tan skirt but I manage to sneak past her into a storage area. I come out of that into another museum area and there is another lady walking around. This one has noticed me, so I take a right toward a door to a balcony. I started on the first floor, but the ground has been sloping away and I'm now on the third floor. The woman is old and taller than I am, she has a huge chest with a push up bra that looks like it was built in a naval yard [This is basically Lady Wilburdon from Neal Stephenson's Interface].

Just as she demands to know what I am doing, I jump off the balcony. The vinyl thing is tucked in my left arm like a foot ball, and I grab the second story balcony (which is more like a fire escape) with my right hand to stop my fall. Dangling from the balcony, it's an easy drop to the gravel road running along the side of the building. I start to run toward the front of the building where my car is parked. The woman is trying to figure out how to call security, but she can't figure out what name it is stored under because it is my sister's phone. I know that because my sister has to deal with so many security firms that she would have just stored it under "Monticello," but I keep my mouth shut and keep running.

As I'm coming up to my car I reach in my pant pocket for the keys, but they're not there. I realize that I left them in my leather jacket. But then I realize that I'm wearing my leather jacket. That's why I came here in the first place, right? I reach into the inside pocket and there are my keys. I get in the car and pull up to the exit on Market Street, next to Bob's Wheel Alignment. I need to make a left, and I can see two cars and two motor scooters coming from the right. I've dealt with the security company before and I know they'll pull a bootlegger reverse in their Hummer and block the exit from the parking lot. So I take a left into the wrong lane. I the two cars and the two scooters pass me on the right and then try to merge to the right and out of oncoming traffic. But another car passes me on the right, honking it's horn. Then another and another. I've got my signal on, but no one will let me over. Finally, after Market St. transforms into Avon St., but before it dead ends at Monticello Ave., I am able to pull into the right hand lane. I figure it would be better to keep a low profile, so I take a left onto a side street rather than turn onto Monticello Ave. The last thing I remember is driving around Belmont with a satisfied smile on my face.

This dream was posted a day late.