It was a short one. I was young again. Looked like I was in my twenties.

Hustling along through a building, I passed through a doorway and down a short fight of steps. In there were many friends and co-workers. (I realized on awakening that all were male.)

I don’t know how many were there. None of these people have been seen in the last dozen years, and most haven’t been seen or spoken with since the last century.

We were all wearing tee shirts, the sort worn to support sports teams and rock bands. All were young like me. Several of us took seats in a semi-circle around a fire pit which had no fire. Others took seats behind us. We were talking, joking, laughing, playing tricks on one another and just acting silly. I recognized at least Jeff, Gil, Ray, Jim. An ex-brother-in-law was seated beside me on my right. Gil was two seats over on my left.

A man began playing guitar and singing. Dressed in black trimmed with silver, he was seated in a chair off to one side, an amplifier beside him. Despite the amp, he played and sang low. We all needed to stay silent to hear him. The song was his own composition, I was told by another. I don’t remember any of the lyrics or melodies. I remember thinking that he could be a professional. Gil said, “It’s like we’re at a concert.” Ian answered, “We are at a concert.” That exchange brought out some chuckling.

The concert ended. We all stood, socializing. Jeff, who I saw earlier, came in. He was wearing a different tee shirt. It had Roberto Clemente’s likeness and number on it. Clemente had been my childhood hero. Grinning, I went to Jeff and said, “Hello, Roberto.”

Jeff was much smaller than I remembered him being. He was taller than me in RL. Although he looked as he did back when we worked together, he was now a foot shorter. “Hello,” he answered, grinning.

Dream end.