Goodness, had a lovely dream last night. Somehow, in this mighty hotel-mall that had the riches of Dubai and the architecture of some clean science fiction, perhaps Coruscant without so much neon, I found this black and green bodysuit--it looked like a skydiver's--and put it on. I also found a boomerang and threw it, then proceeded to chase it around the mall.

Now, what was so lovely about the suit that it gave me the buoyancy of a near-astronaut: I was practically weightless as I bounded about this multi-leveled public establishment, to the wonderment of anybody--obviously this technology was heretofore unseen--as I went to retrieve my lost boomerang.

Yes, even in a dream, my boomerang did not flawlessly return to me.

That said, I eventually landed this boomerang in an exclusive palatial garden of a massive guest suite on the sixteenth floor of this massive hotel-mall establishment, where in the next room, a lounge with floor-to-ceiling glass and a couch spanning three corners around a lush carpet the same brilliant night, where I met an entire family in silk, purple-and-black mottled bathrobes. There was a hard-nosed father with perfect cheeks and his hair slicked back, a mother of no special mention, and ten children, ranging in age from twenty-some to one.

I played with the older kids as I, puzzledly, could not find my boomerang, and then eventually escaped, concluded that my boomerang had gone elsewhere.

Eventually, the fun ended; the suit had become awkward and so I walked on the ground instead, ignoring the suit's abilities. I wound up in a courtyard, a boardwalk ring around a lush jungle diorama, thick glass separating me from the foliage, when a man with a familiar stern face came up to me and demanded I come with him.

The conversation between us quickly navigated from my boomerang to more intensive topics. He took me to an executive elevator and we rode it to the sixteenth floor, where along the gaudy galaxy-patterned walls of this hallway were advertisements that had his children in them--this man was either the owner, or a long-time honored guest, of this giant hotel-mall establishment. In one, an advertisement for the very hotel, was his sixteen year-old son in a bathrobe.

I remember that kid being fairly ugly. He had greasy bed-head in his carrot-colored hair--he did in the advertisement, too--and his face had not learned how to properly smile. One side of it seemed to be pulling on his lips harder, and with more precision, than the other, making for a lopsided and deflated display of joy.

My conversation with the father ended at a balcony overlooking the mall. As I saw the customers mill about with their shopping bags, ice cream, and children on leashes, he told me, in the matter-of-fact manner a scientist explains the clouds, that I'd interrupted his calm Saturday afternoon family time and I was expected to recompense for the disturbance.

I was being sued.

Then I woke up.