Dream of: 11 March 1998 "White Blood"

A movie was being filmed in a city park. Harrison Ford was the principal actor, playing the role of a man trying to run away from a group of pursuers. A young woman, with megaphone in hand, was directing the film. When the actors were all assembled for the chase scene, I was enlisted as one of the pursuers, and the filming began. Harrison Ford raced off through the park with a half dozen men, including myself, hot on his heels. Ford was almost able to escape from us, but he finally slowed down when he turned a corner, allowing the pursuers to pounce upon him. I stood and watched as the others wrestled Ford to the ground.

The director quickly stopped the action, allowed Ford to stand back up, and directed him to start running again. This time as we followed him running through the park, he looked like a large gray wolf bounding through the trees.


All the pursuers were in a car, still chasing Ford, who himself was now driving a car. The fellow driving our car was black. Another black man was also sitting in the front seat, but the four or five other men in the car were white. One of the fellows said that Ford had stolen a new 1998 blue Corvette which he was now driving. We knew we would have difficulty catching such a fast car, but we intended to try.

We were on a city street, but soon decided to head back toward the park. Once we were inside the park, driving one of the interior roads, we reached an area where dozens of picnic tables were lined up along both sides of the road, with each table filled with people. Lights could be seen at each table, as if candles were glowing in the middle of the tables. I immediately perceived something ominous about the area, but I needed a few minutes to figure out what the people at the tables were doing — smoking crack. The lights I had seen flickering were the cigarette lighters as the people at the tables — almost all black — lit their crack pipes.

The utter desolation and hopelessness of the crack smokers was somewhat overwhelming. It appeared that their entire lives were devoted to smoking crack. I had never viewed the use of crack in this light. I was jolted by the realization of just how completely devastating the use of the drug could be. The men at the tables had been turned into little more than zombies. They seemed harmless enough, and I wasn't worried that they would bother us. I wanted to park the car and observe them for a while. But the driver wasn't of a like mind — he wanted to leave immediately. He seemed frightened and hurried to turn the car around and head back out.

As we were leaving, the car stopped long enough for a woman to open the front passenger door and sit down in the front seat. The front passenger seat was turned around so it was facing toward the back, right toward where I was sitting in the back seat, so the woman was right in front of me. What a horrible sight she was! I couldn't see her face clearly, because she kept her head bent down. White blood was flowing from her nose, down over her mouth, dripping from her chin. Obviously the blood was white because she was a crack-head. She was only about 20 years old. At one time she might have been pretty, but her body was now utterly ravished by the drug. She had probably also bargained her body for drugs with the black crack-heads, consenting to any sexual fantasy her benefactors might have had.

I didn't want the woman in the car. I was particularly concerned that some of her white blood might drip on me, and I didn't know what kind of diseases she might be carrying. I didn't know why we had picked her up in the first place, and I just wanted her out of the car.

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