stuff I dreamed
In my dream, Holy Mother Dabney was at war with a group of spiky-blond Indians. The only way to fight it was for Ryan, a very calm and peaceful friend of mine, to ride a moped down the narrow dark alleys with a giant rubber bomb, place the bomb, and leave. After exploding, it was necessary for us to walk through the half-rubbled hallways of our enemies, crying for the dead and comforting the survivors.
The way to stop fighting was to color-code our weapons, so that for every act of violence there would be a puff of shining mist to tell who was at fault, so that within days the city would be shrouded in swirling colors and we would all be too blind to do anything, so that at least something beautiful would have come from it all.