I’ve got a pretty good one to make up for the lack of material this weekend.  I’m with two friends and we’re all dressed quite nicely with old fashioned suits and fedoras.  We’re walking down a touristy city street at night and pass by a Seven-Eleven.  My friend pulls us into the store, which is no longer a convenience store, but a cheap late night diner.  The hostess asks us how many, but my friend pulls out a Glock nineteen from his jacket and demands everything in the cash register.  The frightened hostess grabs a bag, fills it with money, and we stroll off into the night.

We go up the block to the next restaurant.  This one is much classier.  Dimly lit with patrons dressed in similarly sharp, old-fashioned clothing.  We walk into a floor with only dining tables and customers — no hostess or cash register is visible.  My friend whips out his gun and points it at one of the patrons.  The man looks up and explains that the cash register is a different floor.  My friend nods and heads for the staircase.  My other friend and I look at each other quizzically and follow him loosely.  We head up a flight of a grand staircase with a crimson rug.  On the second floor, the seen is much the same.  No cash register to rob, only rich folks enjoying fine dinners.  With us about 15 meters away, my friend gets frustrated, pulls the gun on a patron and demands everything in his wallet.  The man calmly obeys, but immediately after, calls for restaurant security.  My friend bolts for the door, leaving me and the third compatriot on our own.  We look at each other, decide that perhaps we were sufficiently distant from our criminal friend that people wouldn’t connect us as his cronies.  Nonetheless, we deem it wise to make for the door quickly and quietly.  We dodge several security guards who are scrambling for the other door and make our way into the street.

I had another completely unrelated dream in which I bought an iPad 2.