I'm wondering if my dreams are so strange because I love to indulge in creative writing. Maybe my dreams can't help but feel like movies.
This time, a preacher's wife had been murdered. I knew the preacher, knew he had murdered his wife, and had no way to prove it. Kristina comes to see me in the back of a bar, bringing along "pot brownies." It actually looked like chocolate cake and smelled very strongly, and, as always, I refused. Then, as she was getting high and drunk and I was drinking, I realized how I could get him to confess on national television. And I did it.
The terribly sad thing is that this doesn't sound that far off from some tv shows I've been known to watch.
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