In my dream a charlatan drives a tank into a public celebration on 96th street and loudly decides not to detonate it, to prove how benevolent he is. I am disgusted.

In my dream I’m talking to a young pediatrician who is ready to leave the area. It’s night on the bridge.

In my dream I hear two words: pebble egg.

In my dream I hastily hand off the order to the state troopers. Later I realize that it was someone else’s nachos, and not the burrito they ordered.

In my dream we go through all three stories in the early evening. The fruit sellers are there.

In my dream I can’t stop my teeth from chattering.

In my dream we are counting up the survivors in the yard.

In my dream I put my backpack down next to the vendor’s stand and when I come back across the street he has packed up and vanished into a doorway, taking it with him. In quiet panic I track him through an office building and retrieve it.

In my dream I’m playing bass in a band on an arena stage, which is mostly jamming on one chord for twenty minutes until we are all playing “The Big Rock Candy Mountain”. The crowd loves us.

In my dream I piss in a small crock in the corner, daintily.

In my dream the five of us have dinner in the night food court and our affection continues even into the way we talk about it later on.

In my dream I decide that I don’t have to install my shrine on the street where the various elements can be pinched and instead can put it upstairs in the apartment during the award show.