This morning, I dreamed that Mr. Tangerine and I were driving around in his crack dealer's car, and I demanded to be let out. So I got out and went back home, where I was locked out but the neighbors were all very sociable. Eventually, I think the mister returned, zonked out.
After I woke up, I related this dream to Mr. Tangerine, who was gently reassuring. He wouldn't use any crack, he says. "Just black-tar heroin." (What does that even mean?)
I love a funny man, I do.