The following is an actual dream included in my dream journal, and does not describe actual facts

Dream of: 28 October 1997 (2) "Justinian"

I was in the back seat of a convertible, with the top down. I was sitting in the right passenger seat, while two other fellows sat next to me on my left. In the front seat were two more fellows, one driving, one in the front passenger seat. We were a gang, loosely-formed, none of us more than 20 years old, cruising through the streets of New York City, a somewhat run-down residential area.

The blond-haired driver was our leader. Seemingly upset about something, he turned around and pointed to a small black revolver lying in the lap of the fellow sitting in the middle of the back seat, the fellow next to me on my left. I became alarmed, because I was afraid the driver was going to order one of us to be executed, and the driver led us to think that was exactly what he was going to do. But finally it became clear that he was just joking with us, that he was just trying to demonstrate his authority over the rest of us without actually hurting anyone. The driver finally told the fellow next to me to give the gun to me. The fellow next to me complied, and I slipped the cold steel into my right jacket pocket. I felt a little uncomfortable carrying a gun, but if someone had to have it, I would rather it be I.

Although the driver wasn't angry with any us, he was angry at someone: a fellow we passed on the street, a fellow with whom the driver had a genuine complaint. The fellow was standing and talking with two other men. We drove by without doing anything, but I had the distinct impression that the driver might later order the execution of the fellow.

We finally pulled up in front of a restaurant and all of us piled out. We walked into the restaurant, inside a large room filled with long wooden tables, similar to a German beer hall. The tables were crammed with people. The five of us split up, each going to separate tables to sit.

For so many people, the room was exceedingly quiet. However, after I had been sitting a while, I noticed a small blond-haired boy (about 2 years old) running from place to place in the room, making shrill screeching sounds. The sounds became excruciatingly annoying, and I wondered why no one tried to control the boy. Only when the boy came close to where I was did I realize he was the son of my sister. Now I could also see my sister sitting not far from me. But she seemed to have given up any notion of trying to control the boy, apparently unconcerned by his antics.

However it was soon clear something needed to be done about the boy. Sitting almost next to me was a black woman who had a small black baby in her arms, with its little head slung over her right shoulder, looking out over her back. The little blond boy walked up to the back of the woman, grabbed the black baby's head in his arms, and began squeezing. I suddenly remembered the name of the blond-haired boy, and I hollered out "Justinian", admonishing him that he must immediately stop hurting the little baby. Reluctantly Justinian relaxed his hold on the baby's head.

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