My final dream last night was a combination of different forms of my idealism- in our authoritarian world, this dream depicts what should be the future of America.
As I stepped out of a white van onto the freshly cut field of grass leading up to the stage where multiple performances were to take place later that evening by many of my favorite bands, I realized I stood in Riverhead, Long Island- where North East Bonnaroo was supposed to have mesmerized its fans for three days beginning August 8 2003, but was cancelled due to permit restrictions. Though everyone, three guys and two of my best girl friends from high school whom I drove from Manhasset, was stoned to the bone, we lit up a congratulatory bowl next to the van in honor of making it to Riverhead alive.
Some of my friends from the group I traveled with and I were suddenly at the top of a hill, near a different stage at the music venue. We were standing on metal bleachers that escalated at almost exactly the same angle as the earth's terrain, which almost swallowed them entirely at the peak of elevation. None of the foot rests were visible, only the benches. There, where the bleachers ended, a huge commotion began to stir behind us. Police arrived in every form of transportation available- helicopters, cars, and motorcycles swiftly moved in, and pigs on horses rode up the hill to attend to a serious accident of some sort. We were completely unaware of the incident in our unexplainably close vicinity, probably because we were in the middle of smoking what appeared to be a bubbler which was, in fact, only a waterless pipe. Someone handed me the piece when a strong feeling of insecurity struck me so I jolted my head around. Two cop cars immediately pulled up. I hurriedly set the bowl down on the grass between the bleacher benches as unnoticeably as possible. One of the cops saw me which, at this time, wasn't unusual because of his quick dash out of the patrol vehicle. I knew for sure I was fucked after turning stiff and flustered, but instead the officer said, "It's illegal to smoke weed. Get rid of the bowl." I would've listened to his instructions and broken the piece except he turned and left with his partner on foot towards the accident as quickly as they arrived. I stashed the pipe and ran the hell out of there with my friends to avoid further confrontation. Though our crime was unquestionably unimportant compared to the ongoing emergency next to us, initially the leniency with which we were dealt with startled me. Upon reflection of my luckily safe experience with the group, I came to expect the officer's unpredictability- almost as if I were in a lucid-dream-like scenario living my life by a favorite motto of mine: "Nothing's illegal unless you get caught."
In the final segment of my dream, I searched the festival's grounds to help a sick friend find a medical technician because he required a shot of some sort. He had a previously known condition which resulted in the limited use of his legs, making it more difficult for us to find help as time lapsed him into worse condition. His body was sent into shock or a bout of epilepsy from the drugs he was tripping out on, as we all were- though the rest of us experienced limited effects due to incredibly high tolerances. When I arrived at the wooden shack where we were destined to receive help, I saw faded painted signs advertising mushroom tea still hanging out front from an out-of-business vender. I duely noted the price of a cup of tea was less than half of what a cup should cost to make today. This was the only "institution" established in the area, and something told us to enter this place to obtain medical help, though the mushroom signs out front would have led others astray. My buddy's condition stabilized after he received treatment, though I never physically saw the medical technician, any legal paperwork, the shot injected, payment or any other necessities required when one obtains medical attention. | 
