In my dream a boy, pre-teen, is trying to impress some men with his hard work. He is moving and sorting gear in his assigned bay in a garage or hangar of some sort. Then he is digging a hole in beach sand down near the water's edge with a round point shovel. Deeper and deeper. A narrator is talking about how every year thousands of North Americans disappear into the cities and jungles of South America. The boy seemed familiar. The story lacked cohesion.
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