Assassin marathon

I dreamed we were some kind of secret agents that had been tasked with taking out a sniper who was targeting a large marathon in downtown Indianapolis. The wife and I were to pose as runners in the marathon and to try and locate the killer, whose motives were unclear. The suspect was a lady in her late middle ages who looked more like a kindly schoolteacher than anything else, a face creased with smiles and a short bob haircut, greying hair with a rainbow-colored, knit beanie.

I wore a World War II-era flak helmet I just happened to have, and some of the other agents nodded at my sagacity. The wife and I stumbled through the crowds, slow as ever, me cutting a ridiculous figure in marathon sweat wear and the helmet, which partly obscured my vision (not useful when scanning rooftops for snipers). Eventually the wife decided she would walk some so that she could more carefully scrutinize the crowds.

Me, I decided to take my socks and shoes entirely off and run barefoot, thinking this would obviously increase my speed and agility. Instead, it slowed me down, and one of these little kid runners was at my heels, desperately trying to get past me amid the throng. We were on a bridge over a river, encased in shining steel. I finally walked to the side and mercifully let the rest of the runners pass me by.