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I’m living in a house with a roommate who likes to sit down at the dinner table and hold a gun to my head, threatening to kill me. I am able to talk him out of it: he believes that he can get away with it because I am crazy. Later I meet some other people who he does it to. They want to have him locked up. I encourage them to wait, to catch him in the act. We’re sitting in the back yard when he goes into the house and comes back with a rifle. “It’s time,” I say to them as I duck around the back of the garage.
Posted: August 7th, 2007 under Dreams.
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