Masta Killa gets away

My RL journey of Wu-Tang discovery of the past couple of weeks transferred into last night’s dreams. The setting was a long east-west housing block, maybe about 9 stories high, slightly concave on the southern edge, with another long block just to its south. It had balconies along its whole southern façade. The whole Wu-Tang Clan was having a meal in a long room up in the housing block, with indirect daylight coming in from the south. I was Masta Killa. RZA became supremely angry about something and, being omnipotent, cursed the rest of us to die, one by one, from the dishes we were eating. To avoid this, I asked if I could instead shoot myself, displaying a handgun as I asked it, and the request was approved. I excused myself out of sight of the others, maybe down some stairs, and shouted “ka-BLAOW!” (all ODB-style) to pretend I had fired the shot. I then made myself scarce to escape the certain wrath of RZA if he found out I had cheated his death sentence. A throng of people were walking through the plaza between the blocks, and I walked west (or it had become south) to make my escape, staying close to the housing block in order to avoid being noticed through the window by the Clan.

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