Deep within the dark dictatorship of an American urban ghetto, I first remember appearing at the the mangled front lawn of an overweight drug overlord. This man had been ironing out the ghetto for years, sucking it dry with his brute force, key business leadership, and surplus of heroin. Strutting into his office with a causally confident composition, myself and two friends told the dealer that we weren't going to stand for his bullshit. The kingpin became enraged at hearing any sort negligence to his rule, and pulled out a glock 9mm pistol. I then kicked his hand as the first plume of smoke exhausted his barrell, I failed to remove the pistol on contact, but managed to destroy his shot. I then heroically seesawed back at him into reaching distance, where I struggled through several missed shots until the gun hit the ground. The overlord then scattered for the gun, as if he were a groom looking for the ring. However, our team gained control of the glock, as I began hammering the overlords right temple with my fist. Eventually we aimed the 9 at him and as he realized we held his pathetic life in our swave' hands. I then gave him an ultimatum of death, or to use his skills in tandem with us in order to do large hits on the government and corporate superpowers, and give back to the deserving people of our ghetto.
I then find myself at a with my partners at an outdoor meeting, where a friend of mine was briefing an upcoming fight with another boxer and his crew. The boxer was a brutal foreigner who had boasted a relentless K.O. spree for several years. Though our fighter was good, he had only been a highly respected fist place athlete for several months. The prize was outrageous, and the loosing team payed the purse. The boxer asked me if he should fight, I initially said that I couldn't answer his question, but then told him that I thought we should hold off if it was too much pressure, he agreed and we postponed. We then ate the training supplement pills that were exchanged by the fighters, for no apparent reason, not really knowing the side-effects.
(oddly throughout this dream, my bottom front teeth were sticking up and out, and were very sore, as i spit blood, and would push them down. We also wore suits and seemed a lot like the Boondock Saints in our calm, yet flawless swagger.)