Apparently this dream concerned hoods or gangsters. They were very typical, untouchable type, television gangsters. They were very ordinary, not very clever men at all. Two of them seemed to be the principal characters. One was large and fat, the other one looked like me. It was me. The setting seemed to have been an open field, surrounded by woods, and the action began with some sort of treachery underfoot, whereupon some commodity or sort of goods that were in the fields were being stolen by a faction of our gang. Apparently the fat man was the head, top dog, and I was apparently the second dog, and our gang was split into factions where some followed this fat man, and some followed me. The impression I got was that we were in competition with one another, that is to say, he and I and the two gangs--one gang really but two factions of the same gang. Somehow--the action is not too clear here, but the scene shifts, so that now the fat man is in the field and we are talking , and the goods are gone, and apparently his faction has got them. I think it's narcotics. Anyway, we're talking and he has engineered the whole plot and I'm very distraught about the whole thing. And he's being very understanding, and we're trying to figure out together who's behind the theft. We can't figure it out. The story shifts to where now I'm talking to him over the telephone at an airport. I'm about to leave for Italy. Very appropriate. I'm telling him--I can see us both talking on the phone at the same time--like he on one end and a stretch of distance in the middle and I on the other end. He's telling me that he's going to do something, some dire deed that I don't want him to do, and I'm pleading with him not to do it, that I'll get the goods back somehow and I'm promising that I'm going to have these goods back--all the while he's just smiling. Of course, I can't see this--he sounds on the phone like he's dead serious, but I can see it in the dream that he's smiling while he's talking to this other gangster, which is me, because he's pulled a slicky and apparently by one means or another he had a plan figured out whereby he's going to collect for the stolen goods twice and I'm not in on it. Anyway just to appease me, he says, "Okay, he'll give me another chance to retrieve these goods while I'm in Italy," knowing all the while that I couldn't and then we didn't hang up or anything and the scene shifted again to where I'm now in some dark, dingy crumby little place. It would be logical to say this was in Italy, but there was nothing around to distinguish it from any place else. I was just someplace, either squatting on a chair or squatting on the floor in the process of cutting a large barrel of heroin, I guess. Anyway, I was cutting it with something, I was mixing it, and I was funneling it into little capsules like you see in the movies, putting this stuff together for marketing.