When I went back to sleep this* morning, I dreamt I met Jay-Z.
I can't remember where we were but it was some type of event/party/afterparty in a room that had white furniture and high ceilings.
I asked him if I could give him my CD's. He looked at me like he wanted to say something but didn't.
I was trying to figure out if he was looking like that because he didn't believe I could rap, because I said "CD's" - plural, or because we were at a party.
He said he'd take them though.
I didn't have any on me so I told him I'd go get them. He said he'd still be there.
I started this long journey back to my car wondering why I hadn't brought any with me.
Maybe it supposed to be a lesson about being prepared.
I got the CD's, turned around, and all I saw was a closed door in the back parking lot of a strip mall. There was no outside handle. I just stood there.
I couldn't figure out if it was even the same door I had come out of because, suddenly, my car was only a few feet away from it.
I remember an older man coming outside. He was about 70 or 80. He had grey hair and glasses. He got into an old-school orange car that had come to pick him up.
It gets fuzzy but I remember talking to him.
He had to have gotten someone to open the door after I told him why I was outside trying to get in the back way.
When I got back in, the party was going full blast. I remember being confident Jay-Z was still there because of it. I tried not to let doubt creep in as I went from room to room hoping that he, as a successful businessman, was a man of his word.
When I got to the last room, I saw Beyonce stand up like she was ready to leave. She had on a red dress and Jay-Z walked in and put a shawl around her.
They started heading in the opposite direction to leave with a bunch of other people so I called out.
The room we were in turned into a football field lit for a night game. We were mid-field and all of a sudden everybody was wearing jeans. He turned around to get the music from me.
Then I woke up and said, "Weird."
*I wrote this yesterday.
