This was a dream I had a few months ago…

This was a dream I had a few months ago…
I was in a subway, among a crowd of people, waiting for a train. I siped from a large, custom made, forty ounce bottle of malt liquor. I remember having immense pride concerning my custom bottle. At it’s top sat a tiny figurine representative of myself, holding a miniature bottle above its head, upside down, as though I had posed for it while dumping an entire forty ounce bottle onto my head.
It was a drinking trophy.
A badge of madness.
The bottle worked like this: the beer flowed out of the bottle, through the figure’s arm, through the miniature forty and into the holder’s mouth.
It flowed smoothly down my throat, glug after wonderful glug of cold malt liquor.
I admired the bottle.
Somebody noticed it. He moved close and asked for some with his stinking breath on me.
I hand him the bottle and as I do so, I begin to notice that the figure’s arm is much too small for beer to flow through freely.
And immediately the man is having trouble. He says its clogged and I just shrug. He tilts it straight up to the sky and begins to bob obscenely up and down and side to side in order to get a better, more fortifying glug.
I notice a female security guard.
“Keep it down man, keep it down!”
She is already coming nearer.
I snatch the bottle from the man and shove it into my coat.
“what is that?”
“excuse me?”
“That bottle, give it to me. There’s no drinking in the subway”
“this bottle, er, mam, is a custom-“
But she cuts me off. She is demanding now. Her body language is threatening. Her mouth is moving but I can hear no words.
And I wonder: do they let security carry guns in this place? Pepper spray? Buck knives?
I am terrified. Dread becomes my every thought.
I begin to back away from her.
The train is pulling up –no, taking off. It slowly gains speed.
I race toward it.
The roof is far too high to jump onto. I harden my resolve, leap and soar onto the top, spitting defiantly into the face of physics.
The train takes off and the security lady just gawks.
And now I soar on and on through a tunnel past secret shanties of cardboard and lice, where free men live out their arthritic lives in tunnels like moles. And I rend my breast and loose a wailing for the pure joy that animates all things toward the ragged edge of madness,that wild ecstasy that only a fugitive knows –until the moment he is caught –only to be released –only to be fined again for fun and jailed by the dark swinish forces of hypocritical law. I clutch the roof of the train and race onward…