My brother and I were at a wedding reception. It was late, and we had been drinking. I think the bride may have been this cute girl at work named Kathy, who got married a few months ago in the waking life. The groom, Ryan and I were aware, was a cad who was sleeping with someone else already. I think she was even my girlfriend, though I am not sure if it was Amy. The groom was a real estate agent. He had his red hair done in a bad eighties do; I think he might've been based on the same cad in Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion, now that I think of it. He wore a cheap, light blue suit with a matching, flat bottomed, eighties tie. Anyway, his name was Dick. So, as Ryan and I left, I pointed at him as he chatted it up with the few stragglers and said, Yer a dick! Then Ryan and I got in his black Honda Del Sol, which he doesn't really drive anymore in the reality, as it broken down and now he has a Honda minivan instead, family man that he is. Anyway, he drove the sports car like it was a roller coaster, violently hugging the curves, the g-forces throwing me to one side of the car, then the other. Part of the landscape was that curvy stretch of Chanate in Santa Rosa, just before Rincon Valley, (which, coincidentally is where our childhood home was), but the rest was a synthesized cityscape I could not compare to anything I know on this side of sleep. Anyhow, Ryan was clearly more pissed than I, in both senses of the word, so I yelled at him, Hey man, stop drivin' like a dick! This really got his goat, and he floored it on the straight-away, purposefully plowing into the blinking sign of a construction site. It was late, and there were no workers there, but timbers went flying over the windshield, arching over the open roof of the convertible. Of course, he got a flat, and we came to a stop. (It should be noted, that some years ago in the waking life, my brother blew out a tire on his 67 Mustang Fastback while joy riding in excess of 100 mph.) Well, now Ryan was even more livid, and blamed it on the car, which he cursed with a kick: Stupid piece of shit car! So I left him there and walked across the street. There was a church there, and men in hard hats were on scaffolding demolishing a mural. There were people crying on the sidewalk in front of it, and I realized it was because it was one of those miracle icons of the Virgin that cried blood or myrrh or something. I walked inside the church, and there was a small crowd gathered around a nun dressed in the habit of Mother Theresa's order. She was laying hands on them. Behind her was a cyclone fence, beyond which was a football stadium which was nearing completion, and I realized this was the reason they were tearing down the church. I went to the right, down a hallway that looked more like the interior of an El Torrito or Chevy's restaurant than an actual church; it had blue and terra cotta tiles, arabesque archways. I think I was probably looking for a bathroom or a telephone, but at the end of the hall there was a statue of a saint sitting on a bench. His balding hair has combed back. He wore dark rimmed glasses. He started speaking to me like any other person, and there wasn't anything too terribly unusual to me about this. He had a Spanish accent. He asked me a few questions, but I don't remember what they were, then he told me to go see the lady in the front and she would take care of me. I asked the padre if he could come with me, joking with him, are you plastered to that bench? He waved his hand and laughed, as if I were a child asking a silly yet endearing question. So I went to the front. The nun had me lay down, then she put her hands on my temples. It was like acupuncture, and I felt much better. She too asked me some questions I cannot recall, then she asked me if I knew two things, which I cannot recall either. They weren't the names of biblical texts. I believe she asked me if I knew my Khoury and Curtis, which, in the dream, I was familiar with, but not to the point at which I felt comfortable saying that I knew them, so I said something like, I think so. To which she said, Good--all you need to remember are those two things, and you'll be fine. I woke up not knowing what she meant, but knowing that she knew what she was talking about.