Smoke House

I had a dream last night that I lived somewhere called Smoke House. I think it was a lumber town up north. I remember that all the people lived in big houses "just like the ones on Summit Ave." I said to myself. I was walking the streets trying to find someone - my brother, I think. But not my real brother. My brother as someone I didn't really know, that I hadn't met before. I never found him though because I went into this corner store to get some water (I was incredibly thirsty) and when I tried to pay I only had one dollar. The water was one dollar and thirteen cents. The store owner was mad. He escorted me, in his car with maroon interior, to the edge of town. He left me there, looking back on the road to town, standing next to a giant sign carved into a tree trunk that read, in cursive letters painted baby-blue, "You are now leaving Smoke House - Welcome Back!"