I had a strange dream about a fire last night. There was a very large fire on what I assume was I-64 in St. Louis. On the interstate. Off the interstate. Fire everywhere. The dream wasn’t really about the fire, though — it was about the aftermath. For some reason, ashes were piled up on the highway, similar to drifts from a 4-foot snowfall. Lanes were not passable, there were obstacles everywhere and all of the downtown exists from the eastbound lanes were closed. So the only way to get to downtown St. Louis from eastbound I-64 was to drive across the Mississippi River to Illinois, turn around, cross the river again and exit.
Things were bad. Traffic was a mess. People couldn’t get out, and those who did lamented they had to drive across the river. In fact, I (and several others) seemed to be living in a museum. For some reason, I was cutting corn off the cob in the museum kitchen. Several friends (and strangers) were wandering through. And then a friend stopped with very exciting news that he’d “finally lawyered up” and registered a domain for his bottle cap sales business.