My coworker Julia Mitchell has a serious eye for the absurd. While I knew of film director John Waters before I met Julia, she made me a fan of his tacky, trashy aesthetic. Julia let me borrow his sublimely strange film Polyester, which came with a special scratch ‘n’ sniff card – otherwise billed as a new cinematic technological wonder known as Odorama. During the film, prompters tell the viewer to scratch specific scents on the card, like freshly cut grass, gasoline, and feces. I recently introduced Julia to the documentary Grey Gardens, which is a masterpiece about Jackie Kennedy’s relatives, Big Edie and Little Edie Bouvier Beale, who appear to be perfectly content to live in a broken-down mansion in squalor. All of these ingredients somehow factor into the dream I had last night.

I dreamed that there was a place in Lawrence called Pink Gardens, which was the residence of John Waters and also a museum of sorts that was open to the public while Mr. Water lived there. The museum was located in the heart of downtown Lawrence, on an offshoot of Massachusetts Street, and my wife and high school friend/college roommate Greg Harris and I circled the block numerous times in an attempt to correctly identify the place. The outside of the place was indeed pink, but there were no signs indicating that it was actually called Pink Gardens.

We went inside and discovered a roller-skating rink of sorts, the walls of which were lined with a variety of pink-themed paintings created by Waters himself. Becki, Greg, and I all skated around the place, surveying the paintings and casually greeting the other people who were visiting Waters’s living museum. Eventually Waters came out to talk to us, and I thanked him for allowing us to explore his domain. Instead of acknowledging my thanks, he told me I needed to play skating-rink hopscotch because it would make me feel better. Which was weird.

Before I could say “polyester,” however, Greg and Becki had hatched a plot to steal Waters’s pink pickup truck, which happened to be on display along with all of the paintings at the skating rink. Next thing I know, we are driving our car backwards with the pink truck somehow attached to our rear bumper. We ended up driving backwards, pushing that pink pickup truck behind us, all over the United States in order to evade the police. We even drove backwards through Canada and, most notably, the Yukon. Eventually, we decided to hop a train and return to the States. The pink pickup truck, as it turned out, was on the train with us – like a piece of carry-on luggage. When we returned to Lawrence, we knew we would have to turn ourselves in to the authorities because, as one might guess, it is rather difficult to hide a pink pickup truck from, well … anyone. I told Becki and Greg we really needed to plead guilty in the court, as it might result in a lesser jail sentence. Then I awoke.