There was a race involving pushing pianos down a steep hill in San Francisco, and running beside them. I was a bit concerned, and asked them whether they were using uprights or grands. It was uprights, and then it occurred to me that the pianos would topple over quickly once they gathered speed.
I was monitoring the race from a midway point down the hill. It was raining torrentially and the street had a lot of water in it, such that I feared cars would not be able to get through. I had some kind of radio by which I was telling the race organizers up hill about the problem. I felt no water falling on me, though.
I called my mom to tell her of the dream. I noticed it was 6 a.m. here, so it would have been 4 a.m. where she lives, in California. I apologized for waking her. This phone call, though, was part of the dream: I did not really wake her, I realized, after I woke up myself.
Un chien andalou. Pianos. Great dream.
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