I tried to sleep out the storm, had a vivid dream. My dad put a vinyl screen door on his house, saying it was too cold. I met some kids who had moved in across the street. They were pretentious hipster jerks, but they had some really cool records in an upstairs closet I wanted to buy. Then I found myself at an expansive plaza in town, our high school crew was there, including friends I hadn't seen in years and didn't recognize at first. Then I went on a guided tour of a massive ruined cathedral, which was built in either 4-600 AD or BC. All that remained were the first six to ten feet of walls which must have been buried. It was built of huge flat round dark reddish stones. Then I was at a decrepit retirement home located in a marshy island bog. All the staff were engaged in political subterfuge power struggles. There was an outbuilding which held a honeycomb of defunct hot tubs instead of a pool. I got to experience the native tribe of the island performing a ceremony performed by a middle aged man to embarrass the spirits of his recently deceased parents from returning to haunt them. The next part I remember, I was in a dumb band with the neighbor kid jerks, and we were playing in a basement bar somewhere. I didn't like the songs, and nobody liked us. There were supposed to be two bands playing after, but the bar staff decided to close early since we drove their patrons out. The last song we played, I hijacked the end and turned it into The Twist. Afterward when I was packing up my loaf-of-bread-size amp, the sound guy told me I had the most awful voice in the world. Thanks, I replied. The last part involved driving into Portland over the world's steepest bridge, which ended in a vertical drop.
