Last night I dreamt that I had a 1965 Pontiac Firebird that I forgot I owned, that had been sitting in a garage for ten years. It was covered in tickets and one of its tires was flat, but when I got in it was perfectly shiny and clean, and I found two pairs of sandals and a couple of bras of mine that no longer fit. Small, delicate, and lacy. The car started right up when I turned the key. A convertible.
When I woke up I wasn't sure if there was such a thing as a 1965 Pontiac Firebird. I looked it up, and there was, and my dream reconstructed it with complete accuracy.
It's not unusual for me to dream detailed architectural dreams, but they are usually rooms I discover in my house that I didn't know where there, or alternative arrangements of basements in apartments where I no longer live. Sometimes I dream about boats. But this is the first time that I know of I have had a detailed car dream.
It makes me wonder what other things I don't know that I know. And what these forgotten and rediscovered spaces might mean.
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