Dream of: 29 April 2020 "Picture-Story"  

I am browsing Facebook and come across a page where people are posting pictures which have something to do with the corona virus. All the pictures are of people. Sometimes videos of people are also mixed in with the pictures. The pictures and videos slowly flow by in front of me. The pictures seem quite beautiful and I become entranced by them. The pictures are of ordinary people, but they are taken in beautiful ways. I become absorbed in the variety of pictures. The pictures seem to have been randomly put together, but at the same time, they seem to tell a story. I am not sure what the story is, but it seems beautiful and I like it. I start thinking that I would like to make something like this myself of one picture after another and perhaps with some videos.

Finally, I seem to be walking around a building and looking at the pictures and videos on the walls. I soon realize that many men are gathered in the building, and that a play-battle is going to take place with the men. I think I need a weapon, although I realize that no one is actually going to be injured in the battle. In my mind I imagine a pile of men fighting on top of each other. I do not want to become involved in something like that because I can see that some of the men have knives.

Different people seem to be selling things here. I see a little display of small knives about ten centimeters long which are made of thin metal so they would simply bend if they were thrust against someone. I pick up one and carry it around. I bend and roll it in my hand until it is just a little ball. I go back to the display to pick up another knife. I wonder how much the little knives cost. I do not think they cost much. I see some prices marked on the wall, but not for these little knives. I take another of the knives. Nobody is here at this display to pay right now. I think I may return and simply stick some money under something for the knives. Maybe a couple dollars.

I recall that I earlier saw my old friend Steve Weinstein (whom I first met in 1967 when we were both in the tenth grade) here. I wonder what happened to him. I would have liked to have talked with him, but I think he may have already left. Then I see him. He looks around 40 years old and has a thick black beard. He has his own little display where he is selling things. He has a stack of cheap, pale-red, translucent cigarette lighters. I think I need a couple of those. I pick up two and ask him how much they are. He says they are less than two dollars. That seems reasonable to me, so I decide to buy a couple of those from him. 

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