Last night I dreamt of watching a train accident that was carrying US postal mail. Out of all the mail strewn about, I found the package being shipped to me. As I picked it up, I saw a bike packaged up and realized that someone wasn't going to get their bike.

Who says no to a bike adventure in a dream? Not me. Stripping it out of its package, I rode it over to the main road, only to be almost run over by a plane landing. Tacking into the dream, I biked down into town and ran into a huge muddy field.

I could risk carrying the bike across the muddy field and risk drowning with it, or I could leave it at the edge and hope that the next person would deliver it. Fretting about thieves, I slogged through the mud and made it through, so I slogged back, grabbed the bike, and re-slogged.

I found the address for the bike, only the guy lived on the third floor, so I hauled it up the stairs, and knocked on the door.
"Are you Jeroen Emersmits?"
"Yes."
"Can you prove it?"
He ducks inside and returns with stationery emblazoned with his name. "See? This is my studio."
"That's good enough for me. Here's your bike."