So I'm driving along; it's night. The street I'm on splits into two one-way streets, one going my way and the other one comin' at me. So far so good. There's a shop on the corner between the two streets. It's night, the shop's closed. They have one of those accordion-fold screens on the outside of the shop that's pulled shut to protect their windows or their wares or whatever.

In the dream world, the screen goes all the way across the street that would otherwise carry the traffic going the direction I want to go. There are two possibilities. One is to sneak down the other street, against the one-way rule.

Interlude: this brings up one of the great imponderables of urban life. If you're going to go the wrong way down a one-way street, should you do it frontwards (with the car pointed the direction it's moving) or backwards (with the car pointed the direction all the other cars on the street are pointed)?

No relevance to the dream; it just amuses me to think about it.

There's already somebody backing out of that street, though, having tried option one. Option two seems to be to turn right, go up a hill, and around a block or two or seven. Dunno why turning left didn't occur to me; seems wrong even now, hours after waking.

I turned right, drove up the hill, and was hit by a blinding snowstorm. Very suddenly. Couldn't see past the wipers, which were running for all they were worth. I pulled off the road.

At this point, as is often the case in dreams, the car was no more; never had been. It was time to go down the hill, more or less parallel to the street that was closed. I had a sled, a flexible flyer like we had when I was a kid. So I started running down hill, dove, plopped the sled onto the snowy street with me on top of it, and zipped down the street. I remember going too fast, but hey, it was fun. Haven't done that in real life (or, that I recall, at least, in a dream) in 45 years.

Bottom of the hill, I start trying to figure out how to get back to the street I should have been on. Sled's evaporated, as has the night; it seems to be afternoon, getting on toward night. Maybe the sled is really a weed-whacker, and it's earlier that afternoon? Dunno.

So I walk for a while in what seems the right direction. Come to a rapid transit station, where red trolleys are being loaded with people, for a trip to Framingham (roughly 120 degrees counterclockwise around the Hub Of The Universe; perhaps 35 miles away).

Well, I didn't want to go to Framingham, so I came to the conclusion that this wasn't the station I was looking for. Not sure why I was looking for a station at all, except that I seemed to be on foot at this point.

So I asked somebody how to get to Wellington (which is a rapid transit station that's no where near Salem). This person pointed me at a narrow track between buildings that went up the hill and said it's about a mile.

So I started hiking. There were places where I had to climb a ladder built into the wall, and out through a trapdoor. I remember wondering how to get the car up there, but not being too worried, since I was on foot and even getting the car up to that point would be a problem.

Needless to say, I got lost again. By this time it was sunny. Maybe time runs backwards in Salem; that might explain why I always get lost. Especially if left and right are also reversed (in a kind of PT symmetry. [By the CPT theorem this would also imply that Salemites are anti-people.]).

At some point Silas came to stand on my chest for his daily (well, nightly) cuddle time, while the dogs are asleep and he feels free to roam the house, and woke me up.

But really, dreams are most astonishingly convoluted.