I had a dream wherein I was watching an old movie with Jack Nicholson. It was from around the time of Easy Rider, The Last Detail, Five Easy Pieces. Before long, I was in the setting of the movie as a spectator. Jack was drunk and fighting, much like he was in his movies around that time. We were in what appeared to be a parking garage. Jack had a grey sweatshirt on his torso. On his legs he had donned blue jeans. He had a dark blue beenie on his head. It didn't take long to figure out that he was fighting himself. I remember distinctly Jack hauling off on himself, laying a left hook into his doppleganger's gut.
Soon after realizing that he was self-fighting, I became Mr. Nicholson. This meant that I was fighting Jack Nicholson as Jack Nicholson. To kill the chicken you must be the chicken.
Anyway, I don't fight, so that ended right there. Even in a dream, I'm unable to imagine what it is like to be violent. I soon found myself driving, presumably still as Nicholson. I was hammered. I was driving in my backpack. The road was narrow. I kept stuffing beers between my feet to hide them.
I remember looking down at two 12-packs of beer. I recognized the color scheme and the typeface of the brand. However, the brand name had been replaced with something clever. This is probably because of the conversation I had the day before about a shirt I was selling at a resale clothing store. It was a shirt designed to look like a Budweiser beer can. Instead of saying Budsweiser, it said, "Buttweiser," along with other related alterations to the original.
I had an accident because the backpackmobile was unstable. I fell in the grass. While I was trying to get up, I realized how drunk I was. I couldn't remount. My heart told me that cops were coming. I struggled onto the auto - still an unstable backpack - and tooted across the street, falling in the damp grass again. Presumably the police got me. I was already awake.
Jack Nicholson lives a hard life.