I dreamt that Greg Rucka (the writer, and a very good one, if you haven't heard of him) lent me his car. I had a rental, but he said go ahead, his was better, just get it back when I was done. I left my rental parked in the parking lot of some roadside diner or some sort of eating place, that was outside of town, and took his car. It had a good radio.
Just down the hill from where I parked the rental, in a small prairie beside the road, with trees on either side, I saw an Amish woman. When I say the prairie was "down the hill from where I parked," I mean that it was far enough down that the parking lot was out of sight, but was still on the same hill, which was pretty big. A Pittsburgh hill.
After a moment, I noticed her daughter was with her. They both wore traditional dress, and stood quietly, hand in hand. Their backs were to me, and I could see the woman's blonde hair peeking out past her bonnet, blown about by the wind, just like the tall, yellow prairie grass. They were looking across at a distant road on the other side of the prairie, and I could faintly hear some cars drive past over there, beside some woods. I could not see the woman's face, but I knew she was very beautiful.
After I was done with whatever it was (it may have involved a sorceress, and sneaking in and sneaking out of her fortress with some information while she thought I was a minion, and a very close call it was too, or it may have involved driving cross-country to a conference in New York City), I went back to Rucka's, and we talked for a bit. My friend Dave R. was there for a while as well. We listened to some music. Possibly Rush. Possibly Jackson Browne. I thought to myself that Rucka had good taste in music.
Later, I drove home, and when I was almost there, I realized I was still driving Rucka's car. I turned around to bring it back, but then realized I needed to get the rental car as well, but I couldn't remember where I had parked it. I spent a while searching for it, still driving in Rucka's car.
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