Last night I dreamed that the manuscript of my current work-in-progress existed as a single, typewritten copy that I kept in a blue loose-leaf binder. I was carrying this binder around with me through the downtown of a city I almost recognize (Washington?), and somehow I managed to leave it lying on a stone bench at a bus stop. I managed to find my way back to the bus stop (after a side trip through a very colorful neighborhood that was animated in classic Walt Disney style), but the manuscript was nowhere to be found. I have no idea what this dream means.