I HAD A NIGHTMARE LAST NIGHT. I dreamt I was propelled into the future 20 years and took a drive across America, except that it was now called America Inc.

I was driving a gas-powered SUV that got 12 miles to the gallon. Someone had killed the electric car. Four-wheel drive was the only way to get across the country for less than $20,000 now that the nation’s highway system had been privatized into a series of toll roads.

All other roads were torn up, or blockaded because they entered private property. Virtually all of America Inc. was privately owned, with only narrow easement corridors between estates to allow the public to pass through without trespassing.

On back roads, trees, vines, and shrubbery burst through the blacktop blocking all but the most determined vehicular progress. Citizens traveled along a mycelium of dirt roads that tangled mapless across the public corridors. Every signless intersection brought a new adventure or a loop de loop.

Ralph, my trusty bloodhound, was my only travel companion. He sat happily in the passenger seat sniffing out the open window.

We reached Sacramento, which looked strikingly like Detroit. Windowless skyscrapers skirted by climbing vines punctured the skyline. Spray-painted warning signs advised us to keep moving.

We continued eastward until we came upon Chicago, which looked shockingly like Detroit. Packs of hungry pit bulls roamed the empty streets. Ralph sat happily in the passenger seat sniffing out the window. I was able to reach Chicago quickly and without stopping for gas because I was dreaming.

When I reached New York City, I found it had a striking resemblance to Detroit. The buildings were all dark and lifeless.A hole in the skyline remained where over 100 skyscrapers had collapsed into their own footprints after a group of terrorists used jet fuel to melt the steel holding them up.

We turned south to Washington D. C. that looked surprisingly like Detroit. Packs of hungry politicians roamed the mean streets. Ralph sat happily in the passenger seat sniffing out the window, thumping his tail.

At one point we came upon a family camping under an overhanging rock in Virginia. We stopped to ask questions, which doesn’t make sense because the family existed in my dream and any answers they gave would be mine to invent, but such is the nature of dreams.

We learned the family had given up their home to save money for their children’s kindergarten tuition. All schooling was private now except for the teaching of skills needed to do specific jobs, like drive a cargo truck, or fix a hole in an electric fence. The cost of that training was taken out of your first year’s pay.

“Where are all the people?” I asked.

The dad explained what had happened during the 20 years I was asleep before my dream began. America was purchased by an anonymous holding company that shut down our existing cities and towns, cut off all funding, and built new private cities that required special certification to live in. The requirement? The city’s owner has to need you. If he does, you can stay, but not your whole family. If not, you are banished to the hinterland with the millions of other unemployed public servants.

The father kept making reference to something he called “The Great Epocholypse.” He said that was when the collapse of former America began. He said things moved quickly after the Epocholypse.

After some prodding I learned what it was. Shortly after the inheritance tax was abolished that allowed multimillionaires to pass their fortunes down their bloodlines without a penny for the poor, several dynasties like the ones of medieval times sprang up in America that were so powerful they made the one percent look like paupers.

Well, as it turns out, they bought another law shortly afterward that abolished Social Security, Medicare, and only taxed the poor. Anyone who could amass five million dollars while being heavily taxed would be exempt from all taxes.

I awoke from that dream in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I paced the hall a few times. I had a glass of warm milk and tried to go back to sleep, hopefully to better dreams. I closed my eyes and slipped off again. Again I was driving an SUV, but this time it was electric and Sacramento looked like Sacramento, and the roads were free and clear. I turned and said, “Now this is more like it!” to Ralph, but my bloodhound was gone. In his place sat Bernie Sanders happily sniffing the winds.

“You’re darn right it is!” He said.

Steve Gibbs is a retired teacher and has written a column for The Herald since 1985.