Sleep, interrupted

I was dreaming Christian Slater was staging a Dadaist musical in a storefront theatre.

Knock knock knock police department.

There were can-can dancers and a giraffe.

Knock knock police department.

I never got to see the second act. It was going to be amazing.

Knock knock knock knock, "Police department."

"Huh what hello?"

"You okay in there?"

"Yeah."

I was camped in a turnout on BLM land, about 20 yards from the highway. I could've been about a half mile farther from the highway, but the dirt road was muddy and I didn't know whether it would cause problems. I hadn't wanted to find out in the dark.

"I saw your door was open. It looked suspicious."

The side and rear doors were open about four inches. The officer had opened the rear door more and was shining his flashlight around. Would he want to search the van?

"Ventilation," I said.

"Uh-huh. You working around here or something?"

"No. Camping. Traveling. With my friend over there."

"There's no camping in town." (Crap, am I being rousted at... at... what time is it?) "But you're far enough out, so you're okay here." (Thank you.)

"Okay."

"Have a good night."

"Thanks for your concern." (How long does it take adrenalin to pass through one's system?)