I dreamt that I was a six-year-old boy, but at the same time I am watching him. Everything is gray, black and smoky. All the buildings burned down and there are no people anywhere. There is a revolution going on. The boy is walking with his grandma towards the only standing house. Now the only people who appear are separating themselves into two different categories. The boy walks up with his grandma. She sides with one group while he declares "smoker." His choice is devastating for her. Older men begin to celebrate by stuffing a handful of chewing tobacco in his mouth and they all begin to smoke cigars. The boy feels happy that the old men want him around. Another part of me is at the house. I am the same person, and I begin to browse through some records. I look at the different wacky covers. Then some tall guy walks in and demands to know what I am doing. I tell him that I am allowed to be there. But I feel as if I have been caught doing something wrong. I wanted to leave and get passed him. I decided to try and flatter him. I told him he had beautiful eyes. He picked me up and kissed me, then dropped me and said, "Beat it, kid." I ran as fast as I could out of the house.