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What Happens to a Dream Deferred?

My mom just called me – twice in a row – and woke me up from a dream in which a multinational corporation was selling a fruit juice that turned people into sex-crazed zombies I had to kill with a katana. Maybe I should start from the beginning.

It was a cross between Snow Crash and ├ćon Flux – people could eat things like jelly beans that affected their brain. Green was a $50,000 wire transfer; orange made me violently ill, courtesy of the enormously overweight son of the CEO of the multinational (L. Bob Rife or Trevor Goodchild, I suppose). This company was also distributing some sort of fruit drink (someone said it was guava, someone else said passion fruit) that by the same mechanism overwhelmed people’s higher brain functions. The effect was a loosening of sexual inhibitions which ensured the drug’s popularity among young people. Culturally, it seemed like at this point in the future that had already happened; women went topless and no one stopped people from having sex, say, on the dance floor in a club. The other really bizarre thing about the dream was that although I was this Hiro Protagonist-esque hacker/samurai/rebel people would recognize me as the brother of someone they’d slept with, to the point that I had this conversation in a bar:

arfly: I had sex with your sister, you know.
Me: [Pointing to enormously overweight associate.] Yeah, so did he.
[Barfly looks ill.]
Me: You know, I’m Sean Terrill. I’m actually pretty famous in my own right.

Which doesn’t make much sense because you just don’t say that kind of thing to someone who’s wearing a katana.

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