i don’t know where i’ve come from but i am escaping as fast as i can, which is about forty miles per hour faster than i can run in real life. i am also agile as a wild cat. In this dream i am not by myself, and among us allies we carry useful objects which i understand will serve people like us by their relocation. We have taken these things from wherever they were before, and we have a phenomenal head start. Whoever is chasing us are unarmed but we are aware that they are better equipped. They are able to communicate quickly, attempting to surround and scatter our unsystematic squad. These hunters aren’t dressed in uniform but when i glance back to see their faces i recognize actors who play cops on whatever shows i watch in waking life. At one point i toss my precious cargo to a comrade just before being cornered by an attacker. i am backed up on a cement doorstep, against a wooden door carved with flowers. Me recuerdo Salamanca, la luz allá. My aggressor slavers in their solicitous attempts to convince me of their righteousness, my own offenses. In their pathetic face i laugh not unkindly, as if at a small child who has made a cute blunder. How tragic to be so wrong. Without more than a scuffle, i scoot out of their grips and away in a flash, unscathed yet shaken. i join back up with my crew quite easily as they stream through the streets as though running with the bulls. We who have liberated these necessities for our survival turn corners as a motley team with nearly cartoonish rounding at full speed. Someone tosses me their burden as they enter a skirmish of their own. There is a playfulness among us that is irreverent to an extreme, full of flare, brazen with a bright audacity; Merry Men and Lost Boys only wish they’d had this much gaiety. ¡Entre lobos debemos aullar! Our rebel platoon weaves and whirls through a city that is a melange of worldly beauty as only dreamscapes can deliver. My brave friends and i skirt temple steps, rush past food vendors, and smack the water in fountains as we careen through neighborhoods of cobblestone and cement, pavement and metal. We know our way because this world is ours. Once in a while a bystander tries to assist those in pursuit, but we are always there to scoop each other up. i land a right hook in the face of someone who has caused one of my brethren to stumble. A mal nudo, mal cuño. The assailant collapses as we scurry away, i lamenting my torn knuckles with a shit-eating grin. Despite our successful evasive tactics and the ever-increasing distance between us and them, our pursuers are undaunted. Indeed, the majority of us are fully aware that they will never quit. Others from our side though have sensed victory and gone to hiding, or collapsed with exhaustion. We urge each other on by turns. i run and run, panting and pushing my wild hair away from my sweaty face, whooping in cheers as i aid y protejo mis compas, “¡Corremos juntas!” We must not stop, no matter how inevitable our win. We continue to run as though our lives and joy depend on it. We help each other. The crusade goes on.