I had the dream again.
It is a Technicolor, not-ready-for-prime-time dream, spiced with foul language and blood-chilling foreboding.
In my dream, I am held captive in the front seat of a shabby sedan by a fat, dark haired man with a gun. I sit as far from him as I can, silent in my fear.
The nauseating foreshadow of death floats through the air of the grubby automobile. I squirm as my obese captor brags about how easy it was to trap me.