I dreamt that I took a long, leisurely ride in a large and cushy limousine through a sunlit town that reminded me of Cambridge, Massachusetts, in the early Seventies. I am not sure how I got into it, but I think I just opened its door and plopped myself in a seat while it was idling at a traffic light. There was a woman in her late forties and a young man of about seventeen or eighteen in a seat facing me, but we did not talk to each other. I do not remember seeing the driver, who was separated from us by a padded partition. I was sitting sideways and facing a large side window of the limousine. It was open. The weather was delicious. I just stared at the houses and gardens we were passing by at low speed. The limousine was completely quiet and the ride was extremely smooth. At some point I turned toward the woman. “I would appreciate it very much if you would leave me at the next traffic light,” I said. “I would also like to leave you some money for the ride.” “Of course,” she said in a distinct American accent. “That will be a hundred dollars.” A bit surprised by the price, I started ferreting through my pockets. I had a dark-blue jacket, beige pants, and a light-blue shirt, but I found only a few coins in one of the jacket pockets. The back pocket of my pants, where I usually keep my money, was empty. The car stopped, and we all got out. I started explaining that I had not enough money on me and that I needed their address to send it to them, but I woke up before we figured out how to deal with the payment. It was still dark, and I just shook my head in disbelief of my dream. The ride was nice, and so was the limousine, but I am dying for different dreams. Completely different, in fact.