Dream: Convicts and Circuses

I had an interesting dream last night, I don’t remember it all, but here is what I recall:

There was a first half of a dream that I don’t remember, but I found myself driving somewhere (to work?) in a hurry. As I was driving to the on-ramp to the highway, I was speeding, and a cop passed me going the other direction, and turned on his lights as he did so.

I knew he was going to turn around and pull me over either on the on-ramp or on the highway. Luckily, there was a side road midway up the on-ramp that led to a rest area.

The rest area had a big parking lot, with a few cars, and a squat two-story concrete visitor’s center. I parked my car in-between two other cars to hide it a little, and walked over the building.

It was somewhat dark inside, and had a musty smell, slightly damp and earthy, like a basement.

I went inside, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I could see a cafeteria. There were some people there, but they were glancing around nervously, I could tell something was wrong. I went up the cement steps to the second floor, where the bathrooms were. As I got to the top of the stairs, I found myself ankle-deep in water. It was even darker up here, the fluorescents were only flickering dimly and intermittently. I slogged towards the bathroom, but it was hopeless. That is where all the water was coming from, I could see the outlines of toilets and urinals, it looked like someone or something had smashed them.

I went back downstairs, where the floor was damp, but not several inches of water like the upstairs.

I looked at the menu above the registers, trying to decide what to order. Suddenly, the workers yelled “get him!” and someone grabbed me from behind.

The brought me outside, in an area between the concrete building and a chain-link fence.

They were a group of escaped prisoners. I knew they would kill me if they knew I was from Massachusetts. The leader strode up to me and held out his hand. “Give me your wallet,” he demanded.

“I’ll give you the cash,” I replied, “I have, let’s see, $60 here. The ID and cards are worthless to you, so let me keep those.”

He gestures at the wallet with his huge meaty hand. “Give it here. The whole thing.”

I hand him the wallet, he pulls the cash out an holds up my driver’s license to look. He is showing off to his cohorts by only glancing quickly but remembering the whole address. I blanch, knowing I was a dead man if he saw I lived in MA.

“51 Bolling Drive,” he says, “Bangor, Maine. Now I know where you live.”

I realize with relief he has read it wrong, he read my old address instead of my current one.

He tosses the wallet back to me.

I explain I am originally from Maine, lived in Massachusetts for a little while, and now live in Bangor. I tell them I was headed to meet up with friends, to go to the circus. I am bluffing, but have two circus ticket in my pocket.

“Why don’t you call them?” they ask. I am about to say I left my cellphone in the car, but if I tell them that, they will want to go to my car, and they will see my Mass plates. I am figuring out what to say, when one of them sniffs. “Missing the circus, that’s terrible.”

I knew then that they wouldn’t hurt me, they were no longer a threat.

“Well, I used to be a clown,” said one, producing a small bicycle.

They strung up a tightrope between some lamp-posts and began doing various tricks.

“If you can’t make it to the circus,” the leader beamed, speaking with a deep, rumbling voice, “then the circus will come to you!”

They set up a circus tent, and put on several circus acts.

Then I woke up.