Dream: Robert is in town and has bought a Cessna 150. We decide to fly to San Francisco because he left his laptop computer there. When we arrive, some kind of natural disaster has rendered the seas many times whiter than snow.
That night we are cops on patrol, responding to a report of criminals hiding in the trailer of a semi. We open the doors and move in, sighting with the lights on our sidearms. We repeatedly order them to drop their weapons, but when they don’t, we empty our mags into them. As we continue to move it, I see another suspect out of the corner of my eye and shout, “Your suspect on the the left!”
The next morning we go to Robert’s laptop, which he keeps beneath a pier in the bay. We crawl out under the pier where he boots it up, then lays on his side to use it because,”I’ve got it set to layover mode.”
Finally we depart for home, quite close to the departure end of the runways at SFO. Jet blast past just above us, barely missing us.
As we drone slowly toward home, I note that Robert hasn’t climbed above 1000 feet, so I suggest we go higher. He seems to fear other air traffic, but when I pull the throttle to idle and ask him where we would land, he is convinced, and we climb to 5500 feet and fly home.