Where we go

I dreamed.

I dreamed we took a bus to Dead Horse Bay, which dropped us somewhere near a big road and suddenly we were checking into an apartment for the night. Our rooms had many doors. All seemed good until I realized that the bathroom had a flimsy sliding door that opened right onto the common hallway. I could not secure myself against intruders. Another guest said he was expecting riots that night, and we looked out and down onto an industrial parking lot in the dark, with green-yellow lights. Then Vince disappeared. He stayed gone. I got a phone call, man's voice, but when I spoke he could not hear me. He called again, same thing. A knock at the door, I opened, a man who held a red spray can, like the old fashioned oil cans with long metal spouts, and sprayed me with something bad. Then he grabbed my throat and throttled me. I started to shout, Fire! Fire! No one came and I thought, Why can I shout if I am being throttled? I managed to spray the man with his own can.

Cut.

The cat, Estorbo, arrived. The cat was Vince, he was back, and thin, and very dusty.

The End.