In my dream she lets me know that she too has heard about the impending storm and so we quietly joke as we sidle around the ship’s med bay, grabbing any things we think will be of use if we capsize.

In my dream his friend walks over in a crisp white shirt. He is tall, bearded and round but as I go to greet him it’s clear that he doesn’t know the way we fat bears know how to give each other hugs: one arm up and one arm down so that we get them around each other.

In my dream it’s morning and we take our places in the dim reading room, row on row. Books and clipped articles are passed. The light is granular. We wet our fingers, scan pages, murmur. There is conflict and later, we are starved in our seats.