I had a dream where I was on a fishing vessel somewhere in the cold waters off Newfoundland. Meef was an Irish version of Martin Sheen's character from "Wall Street" and he urged us not to lose faith in the union, speaking in a rich Irish brogue. As we drank Black and Tans left over from a previous gathering, we sat on the starboard side and looked at the setting sun and the silouhettes it created. Our vessel was large and grey and did not cut the water in any way resembling the smooth precision of the more sleek boats. And so we sat on and reflected on a great many things. We eventually reached our destination, we disembarked and went in search of hotel reservations. Whilst waiting in line, a little child ahead of me asked the lady at the counter if cigars were allowed in the rooms. Appalled by this, I went in search of the bathroom, where I was upset to find that it was a unisex restroom that was carpeted. Some hotel. Leaving the restroom without relieving myself, I almost ran into a Greek priest I knew from earlier days. He didn't see me. I found out I had lost my traveling companions, so I resumed my spot in line, only this time asking for a room with a single bed.