I am going to relate the details of my dream before they fade too far. I was lying incautiously in the street next to my bike with (a friend?) after retreating from a family gathering. Three punkish girls (in that Avril Lavigne way) came skateboarding up, and one ran over my toe, but I claimed it didn't hurt, perhaps because I thought the one who'd done it was hot. The girl repaid my forgiveness by trying to steal my bike. Fortunately, it was on a chain -- an extraordinarily long chain, actually. So she was able to run quite far before it stopped her (and, indeed, all three of them for some reason). Myself and my friend/partner (we were, apparently, law enforcement of some sort), who resembled a svelte Ron Jeremy crossed with Nash Bridges-era Cheech Marin, chased after and subsequently caught them, holding them until reinforcements arrived.

Ron and I wound up back at Headquarters, because Don Johnson wanted to examine the damage to the bike. (I swear I never watched Nash Bridges; I don't know where all of this came from.) Only I guess we hadn't properly detained the girls, because they we off committing another crime. So I gave chase, and managed to corner them as they were stealing a bright yellow sports car with T-top sunroofs, which they had foolishly left open. This allowed me to leap in the front passenger seat and steal the keys from the running car. Once again, they were detained, and they waited there in that parking lot with us to be carted off to jail. Before that could happen, though, they started to literally dissipate into nothing. I was left with the distinct impression that they were murdered.

Looking for clues into why this happened, we (Ron and I, I guess, though we seemed to have been augmented by more agents) traced the girls back to an exercise club, which was more like a school gymnasium. We rounded everyone, hundreds of them, up into the middle of the gym and started to break them into groups: people who had been suspended from school, people who had gotten lots of detention but hadn't been suspended, and so on. The final group was people who called themselves friends of the people who had just died, but the strange bit was, the girls' death hadn't been made public yet. These people, as it turned out, were just friends of another group of people who had died -- in a plane crash, I believe. Only one of them, a disheveled homeless-looking fellow (what was he doing in a gym?) overheard me talking to a teacher/supervisor about the case we were actually working on and took off. I gave chase, through some dingy hallways and finally out into the back. He crawled under a fence and into someone's backyard. I could see the woman tending to her garden, and I yelled at her to stop him, but I guess she wasn't able. He made a break for the front yard, but I was finally able to catch him. Only when I did, he died too, like the girls. Thinking I'd just seen the killer die, I went to question the lady and escort her back to the gym -- for safety purposes, I guess -- only to discover that she was some sort of ghost herself, and that she was the one killing people. She said she was going to kill me too, but was waiting to do so because "she liked my sense of humor."

Yeah. So. Interpret that, Freudians.