In my dream we rush down the ramp to get in the doors ahead of the crowd and as we do I see P, bowed in a khahki coat, pushing his way out. My light mood curdles and I avoid his eyes.

In my dream pouring red wine into the typewriter activates the characters in the game.

In my dream the game is won by standing various types of characters within the field’s central grid, which is sometimes marked by lines and sometimes dots. We grow more excited as we learn this.

In my dream felt is rubbed across my brow.

In my dream he brings down a plain black wooden case from the second floor of the antique shop. Inside are nestled two conductor’s batons, like wands. “They’re Bolands” the shopkeeper says, underlining their rarity. He’s destined to use them.

In my dream I meet Shonda Rhimes. She holds out her hand with the suggestion that I kneel to kiss the fingers. While donsp she informs me that I have her favorite first name for a woman.

In my dream the pulsating ball of white light hovers in the center of the field.

In my dream I push through what is still green.

In my dream I turn the piece from fat to thin again,  by flipping it back and forth. It’s morning. The street food stalls are opening.

In my dream the edges of my field of vision are corrugated.