Motorcycles and Africa
1: I’m driving down a large street similar to the ones out around Oso and Alicia. A car speeds out and stops in my line of travel. The light is changing. I avoid collision while narrowly keeping balance so I decide to keep my balance to go through the intersection. I notice a cop and groan inwardly. I pull over into the nearest gas station and wait. He comes over. He says, “What happened there?”. I reply sadly, “I ran the red to keep my balance, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to hit that car, etc”. He calmly says, “It’s alright, here’s my number I help motorcyclists like you, have a nice day”.
2: I’m wandering around in a desert bazaar. The desert screams middle east or Africa. I am walking with purpose and I head towards a temple-like building. It was the brown of desert sand and stone similar to the Pyramids. I walked through a set of open doors. There were to people talking one Caucasian and one African, they both nodded me through past the reception area. Along both sides of this hallway people are sitting and waiting. I reach the end of the hallway and there is three sets of doors, all a gorgeous black with African art adorning the handles and other details. I use my “Do not duplicate” key similar to the one I have for work. The doors glide open as I turn the key in each set. My brother mans the right set while I man the left one and no one mans the center. The people all start to flow towards us as the event is about to start. I talk to one person and he shows me a Judas ring. People are being ushered past the black room behind me. I hear a buzzing similar to a cell phone and I wake up.