In my dream we happily chose faces outdoors.

In my dream pink and blue lighting slides along the wall’s surface.

In my dream the mission is to charm the constituency of a small aquarium in Wheels Arizona.

In my dream the antenna is segmented and compact. I tour its length.

In my dream the apartment is a scene of just completed massacre but outside is worse: the vision of a new director who makes every person on the street a lurching murderer, every power line razor wire, every inch a deathly trap. No route is safe through these blocks of carnage and dementia and there is no end to it.

In my dream she grabs the package away from me and scampers behind the counter’s plywood barrier.

In my dream it’s conical. We unearth it.

In my dream vacuuming water from the wooden box. The kid points at the locker and asks if there was really a tv in there.

In my dream we revolve it.

In my dream it’s the last day so I dig into the corner under the shelves to haul out dog tags, hoops and other bits of jewelry and memento.

In my dream I try to push the whole plug of material through the skin.