Last night I was exhausted, and had the wildest dreams. Seamus and I were riding camels through a snowfield in space. There was a part of the snow that was thin, with a sort of crevasse underneath, a crevasse of space. Seamus’ camel stumbled over this part and he fell and punched his hand into the crevasse, and his hand was burned by space.

We went to a convenience store, where Seamus knew a man who could help him. We told the man that Seamus’ hand had been burned by space, and he gave Seamus a giant pill to take, from a bottle which he stored beneath the counter.

In the parking lot, Seamus’ truck was attacked by a biker gang! The biker gang’s daughter, who looked like Eponine from Les Miserables, almost succeeded in getting inside of the truck. We pulled out onto the road, knowing that several members of the biker gang had stashed themselves in the truck bed, with Seamus’ dog, Emy. It was snowing.

We drove over the mountains in the blinding snow. The directions, given to us by the man at the convenience store, were difficult to follow, and we found ourselves becoming more and more lost, on narrow, isolated, snow-covered roads. The pill that the man had given Seamus for his space-burned hand was making him intoxicated, and at last he let me drive. Then the truck was stuck in the snow and we got out of the truck and discovered that the truck bed held Emy, Eponine, and another young woman, who were drunk, along with fifty pounds of bright pink meth, to which was affixed a note.

The note told us how to get from where we were to a secret biker hangout in the form of an old, renovated barn, where we were to deposit the meth. However, said the note, we were currently navigating through a rival gang’s territory, and they were most likely in pursuit. At this, a number of other trucks appeared, and we got back into the truck and attempted to get it unstuck from the snow.

I don’t know what happens next because I woke up.