Dream, running around, trying the key fob at night in a sketchy hood. Can’t find the Lambo my roommate bought.

As the dream unfolds, I’m slinking around at night with a hitman gangster (broad shouldered, Italian muscle man) looking for my roommate because he STOLE the car, and a wireless access point, from some rich kingpin.

We’re peering through dead vines crowding a light pole, and climbing over crumbling fences with house demo trash trying to not be too visible to the choppers searching.

Too hot for both of us, so trying to gtfo. We go into his apt, looking fot his keys. His apt is an old Crab Shack, but they don’t sell crabs anymore, only pig lips and assholes.

Anyway, this guy can’t believe the roomie is impossible to find, but just wants out. Song plays like a Vegas show “I ain’t got no… GASOLIIIIIIINNNNNEEE”

Meanwhile, I’m pissed at the roommie, but this ass hole will never find him anyway. My roommate is me, just an alternate personality.

Keep your enemies close, eh?