In my dream those infected by the creature can be known by the huge Julia Roberts smile spread across their faces. I feel normal but my reflection shows me that grin. Someone has concocted a “reagent ” which should make me puke up the tiny bit of tentacle turning me.

In my dream we end the road trip by staying overnight at Jimbo’s new house where everything is black and chrome fittings and the gaggle of guys are all in skimpy pink and it’s dark and he and I circle each other and make out and there’s his siblings and it’s fun and kinda filthy.

In my dream I’m leaving but I joke with her about getting in fights.

In my dream I have a great idea for a shaped painting but don’t have a sketchbook with me and so I must race through the darkening streets of San Francisco’s Chinatown to buy drawing supplies before the art opening begins. The stationary stall is closing but has pencils and a pink pearl.

In my dream the writing is blurred and we wonder if we were given new pods after defrosting .

In my dream we use a laser level on the turntable.

In my dream it’s time to go home. In this neighborhood the garbage is heaped to resemble women emerging from the walls. Someone has added googly eyes.

In my dream we are all trying to sing it.

In my dream I am putting the final touches on a diaristic set of instructions across a stretched canvas.

In my dream the first day of school means modular drawing assignments across the floors and S getting more feverish while she tries to organize something for me. I bark “You don’t get it” at the two other people in bed.