I dreamt that I was watching the start of a curious race. There were about a dozen men assembled around a large wooden table. They all looked rather grim. Each had to drink a certain amount of vodka before the start. There was no course. There was no finish, either. When they were finished drinking, and when they all threw their glasses into a large basket, the race began. Most of the men fell under the table at once, but a few dashed in every which direction. Some made a couple of stumbling leaps before falling to the ground, their arms stretched out. One of them even managed a wobbly run before he collapsed and passed out. I think he was the winner, too. The only thing that mattered in the vodka race was the distance from the table. When I woke up, I kept reviewing memories of the race in my mind and smiling, smiling.