Last night I dreamed a story. But I was actually writing it in my dream as well as seeing it in my mind. It became confusing. Okay, so, I was with three guys and we were trying to write a screenplay - this was the actual story I was writing. It was a story about four guys trying to write a script about a Polish man who was tryng to kill himself by jumping into a port. He wanted to die because he didn’t want to quit smoking. We discussed that he wouldn’t die, but would just get wet. One of the guys disappeared and returned with another guy who said he had an original finished script.

The script was the last few hours of our conversation verbatim.

INT - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

TOM, DAVE, GARY and PAUL are writing a script. They are sitting around a table. The table is covered with bottles and ashtrays. 

                                                     Paul                                                                                                            But the guy wouldn’t die,                                                                                        he’d just get wet.            

                                                    Tom                                                                                                              Paul, come on. He’d die.                                                                                          And what’s with the smoking?

And on and on…

We were all stunned. As I was writing it in my dream there was the text of the story being mixed with the text of the script dealing with the Polish man and then back to the story and finally the text of the script dealing with eveything. Very wierd.