I was taking the Greyhound to visit my mother in Houston, and on the way, the busdriver let us down to stretch our legs and shit and eat shit at a truck stop. I bought one of this little cheap playsets off the rack from Taiwan, so little kids can pretend they're cops. You know?, with a fake badge and some fake handcuffs and a fake gun and all that shit. After three days, when I got to Houston, I was surprised to find that my mother had moved back into the apartment that we lived in between my ages 4-13-years-old. It was nighttime and I couldn't sleep. I was laying there on my old bed in my old bedroom, and I took out the playset and realized that the gun was real. It was a 357. Magnum. "This could come in handy," I thought to myself. It was so heavy and shiny and beautiful. I was caressing it and caressing it and caressing it. I tried to open up the barrel or the chamber or whatever-in the-fuck it's called to see if there was bullets in there. The gun accidentally went off in a silent pop. It made a neat little hole in the wall, and I could see light coming through the hole from the apartment next door. I looked through the hole, and I could see that the bullet had made yet another hole in the next wall. Then the lights went out and I could hear shrieking. I grew concerned, so I went outside to the balcony, and up the stairs comes this Russian family in agony. "I'm really, really sorry," I said. "It was an accident." They were crying and cursing me, all these little kids. "Where did I hit you?" "You hit me here and here and here, and she pointed at her heart. I could see down in the pool, there was this young woman, the girl of my dreams. She was white and had long dark wet hair. The pool was lit and she looked so magical and completely unaware of all that was happening. She gave me this look, this look I would never be able to do sincerely myself. It was a smiling hyper-flirtatious look. Staring directly into my eyes with this unbelievably sexy smile on her face and green eyes, beckoning me to come in with her. She was completely oblivious of all these little kids that had begun to ransack my mom's apartment. They were bashing out all the windows, tearing out the screens and what not, and wailing about what I had done to their mother. "Shouldn't you be bleeding?" I asked her, and that's when I could hear the police sirens approaching. I looked down at myself. I was wearing skin tight Wranglers and an old Che Guevara T-shirt that I had bought in Mexico D.F. The shirt was inside out. It was way too tight on me and had deodorant stains. I was barefoot. "So, I guess, I'm going to jail for a really long time. I'm'nna go inside and change into some more comfortable clothes," I told the woman that I had accidentally murdered. All of her children were weeping with the only kind of passion that that sort of situation could muster. The black-haired woman in the pool gave me the "come hither" sign. I couldn't believe how callous she was to my situation. So, I went inside, and there was a bunch of little kids tearing everything apart, and for some reason there were cocker spaniels shitting all over the place. I was about to call out for my mom, to ask her advice or whatever, but I already knew what she was going to say, "Tomatoes, I told you guns are wrong. And especially, with your temper, you don't have any business with guns." "But, I love guns. They're beautiful and they kill people." She wouldn't've approved of that, so I didn't even bother going and waking her up. So, I went into the closet that I had masturbated in and huffed so much White Out and Rubber Cement in in middle school. I began to pick out some clothes I wouldn't mind going to jail in. The sirens got louder and louder. I realized it was just a matter of minutes until the HPD was there. I was going to write a note; that Snoopy could keep all my shit back in LA. I love you, Felicia, Shanti, Snoopy, Michelle, Sam, my mother, mis abuelos, mi tio Werner. The sirens got louder and louder, and I realized I had no time because if they got me, it was just a matter of time until I killed myself in prison because I hate rap music culture, it would be a matter of days. I could hear them busting through the front door yelling, "POLICE! POLICE! HPD! HPD!". I cocked the gun and raised it to my temple, and right before I pulled the trigger, "I WOKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Suddenly, I was laying on the floor of my dingy Hollywood apartment surrounded by empty beer cans. I looked at the clock. 5:00. Only three hours until I had to be at work. Snoopy was peacefully sleeping next to me. Looking like the sweet beautiful angel she looks like when she's asleep. I've never experienced the feeling of relief quite in that way ever in my life. I wouldn't call the dream a nightmare because at no point was I scared. It was just so sad. I felt so terribly bummed out that my life was going to end just because of a little mistake. I really really really thought it was real. Normally, in my dreams, I know it's a dream, but this one, I truly thought it was happening for real. I hadn't the slightest inkling that it was a dream. Before I was gonna pull the trigger, I felt these immense feelings of guilt that I hadn't told my mother, "Good-Bye, Mother. Thank you for taking care of me all these years." I thought it was the end. That day, I had never felt that happy to be alive. Hopefully, in the future I will have some more days like that.