robot beach

  • There was some large event, almost as if a festival, that at any rate involved a bunch of people gathering at an outdoors place and seemingly staying for a few days. Going there, riding up a hill with my mom in the Saab, I realized we had someone else’s duffel bag sitting behind the driver’s seat, whose name was written in large but very faded letters on the top of the bag; but she was part of the event, so we would be able to return it. Later I was with some indeterminate friends at the edge of a sort of roofed market area, looking toward the south into it, with the forenoon sun shining down brightly through gaps in the roof. I was sitting on a cooler, of which there were many around, and nearby was parked a rugged motor trike, facing away, with a light yellow color and very wide tires with flat cross-sections. One of my friends remarked on how easily the trike could get into accidents because of not being able to lean into turns due to the flat wheels and therefore being likely to flip out on hard curves. (It only just occurred to me now IRL that trikes, like four-wheeled vehicles, can’t lean into curves on a flat surface no matter what. Whatever.) I suggested in jest that maybe if it flipped just right, the trike could do a whole 360-degree spin and land right-side-up again. We all laughed with a sense of the macabre over the impossibility of this. A couple of people who the cooler I was sitting on belonged to approached and needed to get to the cooler, so I shifted to a different cooler or maybe a table.
  • Soon after that, I was on a south-facing beach with somewhat of a pronounced slope but with flat open land stretching far out inland. A large yellow-orange contraption washed ashore: it was maybe a wood frame, approximately 3′ on each side, maybe with some tires on it, plus a screened enclosure, also yellow-orange, shaped like a basic pitched-roof house, but with the eave ends narrow. I put it on over my head — I could see out of it, but barely — and did some robot-dance poses, harking back to Synthbot, to wild applause.
  • I was an immaterial observer within a story of dinosaurs going one after another into a cave to try to fulfill some sort of important task. A couple of them in a row, T-rexes I think, failed, and the one whose fate I remember landed on some stairs going down into the cave (my POV was from the side) and sagged, breaking open and exuding its dough-like filling out. A young dinosaur went down the stairs to a large landing enclosed by high rock walls, with some daylight coming down, and a presumably mad scientist opened up doors out to the landing from a control room; the dinosaur picked up a violin and started playing, which fulfilled the task FTW.
  • It was a misty earlyish morning, with low golden sunlight, in a fusion between Barcelona and Boston. I was on some narrow, densely connected streets. A man and woman on bikes were consulting about directions, and for some reason I followed them after they departed, taking a Bicing bike to ride. Another nearby guy, dressed preppily, offered me cocaine or hashish, but I declined politely (politely except that I responded fairly loudly and repeated “cocaine” and “hashish,” blowing his cover) as I was biking away. As I biked northeast down the street, I saw a police officer ahead helping someone out with something, so I had to relinquish the bike, since I didn’t have a Bicing license. Luckily there was a Bicing depot in between me and the policeman, so I deposited the bike there.
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