In my dream I end up in the townhouse asking if I’m really supposed to add my strongest family member as security. It’s night and the celluloid tiles are red and yellow, stacked on the counter.

In my dream I have to thwart the  siblings who have decided to kill off the rest of their family, so we scramble through the hydroponics at the mall, pushing at each other. The water is near our ankles.

In my dream the black tendrils of their headdress fly open.

In my dream  a small group turns away.

In my dream we cross the barriers into the plaza. The carbonation in the kombucha pushes the glass stopper out of the bottle. I’m trying to find a rubber stopper.

In my dream those bulbous new white SUVs are in the gas station lot. Just as I try to get the doors closed and everything rounded up in our house, a feral cat slips in, dark and tagged, so now I’m chasing it slowly and trying to coax it into a blanket. I don’t want to touch it.

In my dream the faces change slightly.

In my dream the showers built into the old refrigerators have too many bugs so I make my way back through the basement looking at all the sanded and polished wooden scraps, thinking about how I need to incorporate them in my work.

In my dream I start to find the portfolios stuffed with my work after R had told me that they were all gone, thrown out over the summer. My corn cob pipe collection is hung from a drying rack below them, I glimpse some of my zines and sketches.

In my dream wooden slats line the walls. The score is toted up while balls get tossed at the hole.bthebelevator lurches. A sign is decoded: the invasion is starting on May 5.