Gifted

I am hanging out with my gifted class -- as well as a few other people from high school who were not part of the gifted class -- and we are riding in a moving restaurant. It's like a reunion of sorts, as everyone seems to be the adult version of him/herself. I haven't seen most of these people in eight years or so.

The moving restaurant is moving fast. It's almost like we're in train cars, but we're bustling through city streets. I see tall highrises around us. It's night and the city is twinkling. Things are getting jostled around from the speed at which we're moving. I can see into the kitchen and the line cook is swaying with the dining car as we make a right.

Everyone sits down at a long table -- we seem to have stopped moving or perhaps moved to a stationary outdoor table. We're talking (about what, I don't know) but Brandy T. shows me a painting I apparently gave her back in the day. It's a rudimentary and very bad version of a painting I did for Amber (the one whose background is based on a pattern that can be found on a pair of underwear I have) in real life.

At some point, everyone's mellow is seriously harshed because we realize that Jacob H. is not with us. Because he's dead. Electrocuted, to be exact. He is apparently the first of our group to have passed away.

***This is an example of dream content for which my brain plucks situations directly from real life and turns them into barely filtered craziness. The gifted class bit comes from my conversation with Palm Tree last Friday night, when we drunkenly mused about the good old days and how we'd love to reunite with Mrs. Gilchrist's class again just to see everyone. And the electrocution bit had to come from my conversation with Lighthouse Pilot yesterday about being electrocuted: by fences, by wires, by Coke machines. And the bit about the dining car no doubt was taken from my excitement yesterday over learning that you can go from Memphis to New Orleans for $50 each way on an Amtrak.***