The dream started with a voice saying Let’s Get Down to Business, and somehow that Makes Sense to Me, because I was suddenly following One Arm Steve through a glowing parking lot where time moved Little By Little. He told me to Walk On, stepping past a snoring Sleeping Man who looked suspiciously like Aunt Avis wrapped in tie-dye.
Inside the venue, the floor pulsed like Rebirtha, and Billy Strings appeared next to Panic as Conrad, Little Kin, and the whole Goodpeople choir sang in perfect chaos. The stage morphed into a breathing Machine, spilling out Barstools and Dreamers who toasted in a Dark Bar, chanting Goodpeople like it was a spell.
Suddenly it turned into a Party At Your Mama’s House, but the band warned us to Stop Breakin’ Down Blues as Fishwater flooded the pit, carrying us into Surprise Valley—then Fishwater again, deeper this time, and right back into Surprise Valley, where the lights bent and the sky hummed Blackout Blues.
As the last note hung in the air, a voice whispered There Is A Time, and Billy stepped forward smiling like Mr. Soul himself. The crowd exhaled as one, the dream folded inward, and I woke up knowing—without question—that it was all real somewhere.
