Good morning, everybody.
I was with my family in a car. It was a cold, grey day. A lot of snow had accumulated on the ground. It may still have been snowing a little bit. The clouds hung thick and low.
I may have been in the backseat, on the driver's side, but I may also have been in the driver's seat. We were driving to the airport so I could catch a flight out of town (and "back home" to New York?).
I was also going to meet a friend of mine, probably my old friend Y, at the airport. Both Y and I seemed to be coming to this airport from another airport. We had scheduled our layovers together, and we were both heading into the same city as a final destination, but we may not have been taking the same plane into the city.
But now I was, due to some delays from my family, feeling like I wasn't going to get to the airport on time. I felt like I was going to miss seeing Y during the layover. But something made me think that maybe this wasn't right. If Y was getting into the airport during bad weather like this, chances were her plane would be delayed.
As I thought about this stuff and spoke to my mom about it all, I looked out the window. My view had subtitles at the bottom, in both English and Chinese, or maybe in English and Japanese.
We were just now pulling into the parking lot of the airport. But it looked like a parking lot for a Walmart. A lot of cars were in the parking lot. There were also huge drifts of snow everywhere, where the snow plows had piled up the shoveled snow.
I started to worry a little about my plane departing on time. The weather was really bad, and the airport appeared to be packed. Were there going to be delays on everything?
Now the thick, grey clouds, which had hung very low before, dropped even lower. The top of the airport was obscured by the clouds. But the clouds dropped even lower, until there was no visibility only a meter or so above the roof of the car.
This was very strange and disturbing, but also exciting, in a way. I made a joke about it to my family, saying that we had no visibility at six feet. But, really, I was now more panicked than ever about my flight. I feared that the fog would come all the way to the ground. But it seemed to be holding steady, if not lifting up a bit, now.
I was in a room with an older, Asian man. The room was very tall. Along the walls was a structure like scaffolding. This structure was the beginning of some new building, or even some new city. The man spoke to me about an earthquake he'd felt recently. I hadn't been here to feel it.
The man now had to leave. He would return. I was put in charge of watching or developing the scaffolding structure while he was gone.
I had gone up to a balcony level of this building to do some studying. The balcony looked directly over the tall room where the scaffolding structure was. The balcony faced the wall against which the scaffolding structure stood. On the left wall of the tall room was some other tall structure, made of something else and done in a different style.
The balcony area was like a bedroom, with a bed, a desk, and an entertainment center. I probably lay on the bed with a book, preparing to study.
But just then an earthquake hit. I looked over the balcony to see the scaffolding structure -- which now had little facades of pale wood in between each square of scaffold skeleton -- crumble and fall to the ground.
I had suspected this would happen: the structure had been in the early stages of development. It wasn't yet strong enough to withstand an earthquake. Still, it was a terrible inconvenience that the structure had crumbled completely.
I also watched a TV fall off the structure on the left wall and crash to the ground. The TV fell on its face. I hoped the TV wouldn't break.
I now sat back in the room. I had a TV in this room now. It was playing some video starring a man like George Takei. The man was explaining the reconstruction of something after a disaster.
My view faded into a huge apartment in New York City. The apartment seemed to be as large as an entire building floor. But it was cluttered with junk and not very well taken care of. There seemed to be a party going on here. I recognized a lot of my old friends from college.
I walked up to the kitchen, where I saw my old friend ML at the sink. Over the sink was a wooden board, on which lay either a slab of cooked pork or else an entire roast pig. I grabbed some chunks of the pork and began eating it. It had a good barbequed taste.
ML mentioned that my brother had actually cooked this pork. I now remembered that my brother had made a hobby of mastering the cooking of pork. He had become known among my friends for it, as well, actually. ML told me a story of how my brother had roast an entire pig.
Now another friend, MV, walked up and told me how he had been surprised at how good the pork cooked by my brother had tasted on another occasion. MV had been surprised: my brother had always seemed to lack motivation. But he had a real passion for cooking pork.
MV told me, "I asked your brother, 'Hey man, how'd you learn to cook your pork so good?' And your brother replied, 'Goth, man, goth.'" This was a joke that was, apparently, characteristic of my brother. I laughed really hard at the joke.
I pulled up another piece of pork (the meat was really dark red, and it had a fish-like, ribbed texture). As I ate the pork I thought I really had eaten too much meat, and that I'd need to stop eating. My stomach would be in bad shape if I kept eating like this.