Background: Stan and I watched the Arzt got blown up real good episode of LOST the other night. This morning on WPR while I was sleeping they were talking about firecrackers/works safety and maybe they should be banned. OK, enough background, here's my early morning dream:

Stan and I went into a store to buy some dynamite. The salesman was an old codger, maybe in his 60s, quiet silent type, short shorn greyish white hair, fairly tall, wrinkly...didn't look like anyone I could compare to, but maybe some old geezer working in ma and pa gift shops out west. We only bought one stick. He took it out of a box and dipped a paper towel in a pan of water, then wrapped the paper towel around the stick. Then Stan put it in his backpack. We then put it in our trunk (we don't have a trunk!) Then I was thinking, "Why did we do this? What are we going to do with this now?" I was afraid to touch it, I was afraid of Stan touching it. Stan told me we would put it in some garage...this was a garage of a relative of his...some older detached garage. I was hoping it wouldn't explode before we got to the garage. I was freaked out the whole dream...good thing it was a short one.

Labels: Dreams, LOST