I just dreamed that I was with eight or nine other men, and we had all just broken out of prison and were on the run. (Yes, we broke out of prison.) I knew some were guilty of the crimes they'd been convicted of and others not guilty. I wasn't sure if I was guilty or innocent.
We spent a lot of time in the woods where I grew up, a place called Del Dios in Southern California, which is really just a little valley with a lake in the middle. We managed to steal a bunch of matching (and really elegant) suits and a bunch of beautiful brass horns. We were going to disguise ourselves as a brass band (octet?).
But we had to make some detours. During one detour I was spending time with a family, which was supposed to be my family. I only recognized one of these people, Jeannie, a sort of aunt of mine. She used to be married to my uncle and is the mother of my two cousins, Bryan and Trever. Everybody wanted me to play with this one little boy, which I did, happily. We painted with water colors, played with cars, chased cats. Somehow he was especially connected to me, but nobody said how. He didn't seem to be my son or brother. Maybe he was me? He had very definite ideas about what we should or shouldn't do.
The dream is too long to recount in its entirety, but some local young guys showed up and seemed to recognize me, so I had to get out of there. I ran through woods and eventually found my fellow escapees, who were all piled into a a slick black SUV. But somebody was threatening them. There was a fight. There were gunshots. We won, but our nice suits were full of holes and stained with mud. Our horns were dented and plugged up with sticky gum-like stuff. We needed a new cover.