In my dream the room is half jungle. It’s dim. We move through. The stacked exams are lightly furred.

In my dream there is a lobby with a dispenser.

In my dream I adjust my scarf and skirt and wait for the next message.

In my dream my bag is stolen and with it my phones, leaving me on the street with a few towels and no place to sleep. After initial panic I realized I still have my wallet and start to think through how difficult it will be for the thieves to take everything of mine.

In my dream I stand on Fifth Avenue and 23rd street, playing a video game on a handheld system. The game is set in a simplified Manhattan, so I walk my character down to the same intersection I’m standing at to see what the game’s version looks like.

In my dream he thinks it’s a good idea to offer all of us bumps of cocaine while we’re on the way to the airport.

In my dream my travel has brought me to downtown Manila where the thrill of being in a new country mixes with confusion and anxiety. The wide streets and gold edged, glassed lobbies glow in the early evening night. I need to book a flight.

In my dream I ask the smug white family across from me “Who was the last black person you’ve spoken to who wasn’t a service person or a government official?” Their inability to answer proves my point. Later I am punching and biting them.

In my dream I want the acid yellow over dyed duffle bag from Carhartt as soon as I see them on the fifth floor of Macy’s.

In my dream the setting sun lights up the heavily costumed stilt walkers as they dance through the South of Market parking lots, their paper streamers shaking and swirling. I can’t see their faces.