Morning of February 8, 2015. Sunday.
My dream starts out in the factory I worked at when much younger, which made Ford Taurus parts. The foreman (and friend) who shot himself is alive again in my dream (as with another recent dream though he is normally a very rare dream character, especially over the last twenty years). I do not see him at first though. There is a factory loft which is like a mini-warehouse which is actually more like the loft at a different job when I worked for the college in maintenance at a large automotive-related classroom.
In my dream there is another foreman (though one level down from the main one whom is not yet present) who seems worried about something. I am apparently going to help him move some larger cardboard boxes in the loft. He does not go up to where I am. One longer box falls to the side (though not to the first floor below - it stops at the guardrail), but nothing breaks, apparently. It soon turns out that no one is supposed to be in the loft or touching any of the cardboard boxes at the time, except perhaps for the higher-up foreman. The penalty is immediate death by a foreman or supervisor.
The lower-level foreman tells me to hurry and leave the premises but then he follows me for a time to help me in my escape to the east as the other foreman has just arrived - and even though he seems somewhat cheerful, we are, in a way, apparently expecting the threat of soon being shot at or killed. We manage to run and keep ahead of the other foreman (though more of a supervisor), though I am not entirely sure of what would have happened had I stayed. After we run around a few unpainted concrete block wall corners after leaving the factory grounds, an unknown Filipino girl joins us. It is possible that she had been in the factory loft at one point or maybe is just a secretary trying to catch up with me in an enquiry relative to my next paycheck.
Even though we had been at Northern Engraving in Wisconsin, we are suddenly running south down Highway Seventeen in Florida (on the east side of it), although the area is more south than where I lived and somewhat unfamiliar. The male jumps on a harvester quite quickly and starts driving it, as we all go about the same speed, continuing southeast. We start to chant "invisible, invisible" (intending to become invisible) - an event borrowed from a childhood dream where I did the same thing (although also sunk into the ground to evade my pursuers). At this point, I actually feel a bit playful and am wondering how far behind our pursuer is. It seems he may have been joined by others.
We have to be more careful now. Apparently, word has been sent out and a group of hillbillies living farther south has been informed. This will not do because Randy Quaid (the actor) will likely be there with his rifle and may be able to stop us. We start running in and out of various small dilapidated hillbilly houses and through the various rooms as Van McCoy and The Soul City Symphony plays "The Hustle" (from 1975). For some reason, one unknown southern girl offers her house to run through. Room after room, I run, zigzagging where I need to, listening to "The Hustle". The music follows me along cheerfully and playfully, overhead, as if from an undefined but omnipresent sound stage. After I run out through one back door of one small unrealistically-maze-like house I am aware of Randy Quaid (with the persona he had in "Paper Moon" from 1973) aiming his rifle at me from another backyard from near an external hot water tank. However, I am still running, heading east, leaving him far behind. I wonder if the two others had been captured...
