an actual dream

     We were driving as fast as we could. We were out of the bookstore, and way the hell out now.

      A while before we got there, there was a block in the highway, and we had to take a detour. We had to  be fast.

      We drove off of the road, onto the fucking dirt into the fucking airport. No one was looking. No one was paying attention.

      We stopped by the gates  and the piles of baggage.

     "Grab one of those big carts of boxes," I said.

      She grabbed it and we walked up the stairs into the gate, into the terminal, nonchalant, safe. Well, both wearing everyday clothes as opposed to the inconspicuous airport uniforms that would guarantee us security, but no one gave a damn by this point. I kept looking back, looking at the guard at the gate entrance, for any signs of suspicion. There were none.

      Only when we'd reached the escalators was there any evidence of disturbance.

      About time, this was almost too easy.

      Ready to give up, accepting the inevitable, ubiquitous doom, always waiting for me, this time in the form of airport security, I tried one last attempt, one last breath. I ditched the trolley with the boxes that were our only guise, grabbed her hand, and we ran up the escalators, through mild crowd.

      I could hear the walkie-talkie-instructions loosely, barely, indistinctly, but only heard vague depictions of "blue jacket" and "red shirt," etc. Well, damn, that's not the end of the world, that can be escaped, fixed, remedied, made good!

      We were past the top escalator step and free.

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Then I woke up, a little sweaty, and excited.