I dreamt I was tooling around in a car around a neighborhood with my girlfriend, and we had to stop some place so she could pick up something or attend a class. The area looked like the area around Ashland and Belmont, in the parking lot behind the bank on the northeast corner.
We went into a few shops and such, it seemed that people were getting out of meetings or classes or something. But she couldn’t find the person she was susposed to meet, so I was going to leave her the car while she waited, and I was going to ride my bike home. I got out into the parking lot and discover that the rear tired on my bike is worn through, and is largely unrideable. She comes out and tells me she doesn’t want to wait, so we walk across the parking lot to the car. It’s my grandfather’s car, this huge marroon Caprice (not the kind of car my grandfather drives in real life). I pop the trunk, it’s more than big enough to put my bike in, but there is a bunch of shit in the trunk, like a old moped, cases of Old-Style and Pepsi, motorcycle helmets, sledgehammers, doggeared and yellowed political literature, etc. I figure the bike might fit into the backseat, but just throw it on the rest of the stuff and slam the trunk shut.
This turns out to be a bad idea, as the “cover” for the trunk lid comes off in my hand because of the force of me closing it. The “cover” is just this stiff metal that latches on where the trunk lid is hinged. The trunk lid appears to be covered with that same sort of rough cloth they cover the inside the of the trunk.
At some point, I end up sitting around and talking to people and eating. It must have been outdoors, because I was swatting at bugs. I killed a bug in the palm of my hand and wiped my hand on my pants, when someone says to me that I shouldn’t rub off the bugs with such force, they are still alive. I look at my hand, flick away some bug remains and notice that there is something crawling around under my skin, about the size of a piece of rice, and black. I then notice that I have a cut on my palm, left hand, half-way between the center of the wrist and the base of the thumb. Things don’t look good.
Next thing you know, I’m in some kind of lab, maybe a hospital lab. These doctors and scientists are all examining me. Someone mentions that it may be infected, so I squeeze the wound, in a cheap attempt, I guess, to force the infection out, like you would suck on a snake-bite to remove the venom. A doctor uses this portable radition tool that looks like a cross between an electric drill and a blowdryer, waving it over my arm and palm like they do on Star Trek and claims he killed that bug that got under my skin through the wound in my palm. The radition also makes the clot from the wound (boy that clotted fast) start to bubble and crack and get larger. I can see something wiggling inside. The scab falls off, crumbling to bits, and out of this huge hole in my palm and wrist where my flesh should be, comes this transparent “thing” that looks like a big flat worm, about the side and shape of a tongue, which falls to the floor and flows into a drain in the middle of the floor.