Only in dreams:

Two nights ago, I remember dreaming about being at work, some type of office/corporate business environment and “the government” arrived to pick up the people selected for military duty. I remember thinking that this had become normal and I guess my time had come due. At some point in the future, federal officials would arrive at your home or work to pick you up when it was your time. You know the officials, dark suits, dark glasses, and officious tone. Direct.

Much is hazy until I recall being in uniform, outside, some place warm, by the sea. I am among many new recruits. I recognize the New Zealand national flag. Somehow we’ve been shipped to New Zealand for ‘training.’ Welcoming us were women soldiers of New Zealand, I suppose. Instead of barking orders, we were greeted with sympathetic hugs, and welcomes.

So last night, I’m playing bass for the Rolling Stones – in concert. It’s quite exciting and oddly normal. There’s Keith, Mick and Charlie. I don’t have a clue how to play the songs or what the set list is. Keith walks up and says, “Don’t fucking worry about it, nobody gives a shit.” Later, Keith and Mick and I are in a grocery store and Keith and Mick have very little consideration of others and very bad manners. Their behavior is appalling yet quite funny. At one point, Keith whips out a straightedge razor and snorts a huge line. The both look like hell, they smell even worse.

People are falling all over themselves to get closer to us. The cops have to be called in to control the fans. Next thing you know, we all have on women’s clothing and we’re trying to sneak out of the store. Mick finds the whole thing hilarious. Keith continues to get really wasted. Obviously, I’m along for the ride…of my life. Charlie loves the wigs. They've all done this before.