I was driving down a road somewhere going 7 miles per hour over the speed limit…. mind you, you can legally go 5 over so I saw it as being 2 mph over the legal limit. Anyway, I see the blues flash and pull over to the right side of the lane. Two other cop cars are pulled over to the left directly across from me on the other side of the road. I huff and roll my eyes as I bend towards the passenger compartment to pull out my papers and my licence. He comes up to the car with his light flashing in my car (it was night time), and asks for licence and registration. I hand him both, and happen to notice there are two badges of two guys clipped to the right side of his uniform. Upon closer inspection, I recognized the one on the top. “Hey, that’s my brother! Why is his picture on a badge?” The cop looks up at me, bent over to make himself level to me, and gives a rather proudfull but uncomfortable smirk. “Oh, yeah? What’s his name?” “J**** S******”. He beams a smile at me and says “I’ll be right back.” I get very uncomfortable, and get out of the car. I follow him to one of the cop cars across the street where he’s typing up something on a laptop and analyzing papers. “Now wait a minute – whats this all about? Why do you have a picture of my brother? He’s done nothing wrong; he’s no criminal!” In my heart I feared he may be in trouble for theft or something, but the officer pulls out a ton of random pictures of my brother in party glasses and goof mardi gras wigs, making a fool out of himself for the sake of getting and giving a laugh…. the thought “eccentric as always” wistfully passes through my mind. The cop says “He’s been seen going around the fox run mall and a few other stores dressed like this. We think it’s highly suspicious.” Seriously? They’re going on a hunch? >.>’ If dressing like a goof-ball some new level of profiling? “Look, I know my brother is a little eccentric” I press, “but that alone doesn’t make him a criminal. He likes a good laugh and thinks it’s hilarious…. that’s all.” The cop gives a cocky chuckle and complements it with kind of a “uh-huh” response. He asks where my brother lives, and I tell him he’s living with me and give the address. He punches that into the computer, turns his head, and beams a full smile at me while handing me back my papers. “You’re free to go. Have a good night.” I’m left in shock and disbelief. He let me off without a ticket, and in exchange, I inadvertently helped him out in a case against my brother that I knew would amount to nothing. I get back in the car and drive off pissantly, spitting a verbal fire of hate towards the cops. I particularly remember calling them “pigs” once I was off and the stereo was playing. I call my brother when I am some distance away, and the dream fades out.