Maybe it was yesterday's talk of outsourcing killing, but last night I dreamt that M and I were subsidizing our income by taking on contract killing while on the road. It was perfect--we breezed into a town to do a show, took out the target sometime between tech and opening, and then skipped town long before anyone would ever suspect us.
I write "us," but even in the dream it was Mike doing all the dirty work while I merely helped coordinate logistics via iPhone texts. (Yeah, brilliant move, that. Leave a big old trail, why don't you.)
We were in a city that had a huge sports arena next to a huge concert hall (in my dream logic I decided it was Philadelphia) and I was listening to a piece of music being performed by fifty violins when I suddenly realized, Hey, we're killing people. That's not cool, that's not sexy, that's horrible.
M had a simultaneous come-t0-Jesus and sought me out, saying, "Isn't the most important rule of monloguing this: 'First, do no harm'?"
We agreed to mend our evil ways and immediately cease all killing, but it was too late. They were on to us for a previous offense, a botched job from the start. Our lives as we knew them were over, but even worse was the realization that we'd have to live knowing what we'd done.
I woke from the dream at 5 AM and turned to M and made him promise never to become a hitman as a side job, no matter how lucrative. Of all the weird wake-from-a-dream-and-elicit-a-promise moments we've shared in our twelve years together, that was probably the easiest one for him to agree to.
