I'm at a tweetup. One that was arranged in haste as a response to a hate-related incident. We are in a small auditorium, navy blue velvet covering the walls. Tweeps are giving speeches, standing up from where that sat and just generally talking about hate-crime in their respective home countries and how it'd been combated. The room is dark. The stage empty. Except for dimmed beams of lights dancing to the sweetest R&B tune (actually, it was one I'd never heard before. If I was a musician, I'd compose it and it'd make a hit). Tweeps have faces, voices and bodies that cast long shadows. But I can't recognize any of them. When they speak, it's all funny avatars and 140 characters.
The event ends. We are walking back to our cars that are scattered around a deserted roundabout. There is a very slow-moving and solemn-looking procession of other cars, the R&B tune was blaring through the tinted windows of the one in the front.
We're about to get into our cars and leave when couple of tweeps demand attention and make a little speech. Apparently; they're inviting us all to a dinner where they'd present their product: some sort of a spice that, when mixed with food, make people less prone to prejudice and racism.
The dream ends here.