In my dream it’s a year later and we go out back to pull a chestnut off of the tree.

In my dream I’m at some public event and happen to be walking alongside Linda MacMahon so I begin berating her about how sho should be ashamed of her attempts to dismantle the Department of Education, I’m telling her I’m an educator  and that it’s despicable as we both walk along, while I gauge my tone and body language so as not to provoke her security squad.

In my dream the mouse is back, so I chuck a brass lock across the floor to try to kill it.

In my dream the staff evaluation room has a glossy black floor and walls.

In my dream someone has used toilet paper to outline several figures on the side of a truck and as I pass it I want to photograph it ,leading to me fumbling everything out of my pockets unable to find my phone ,or bring up my camera app or frame the shot. I refuse to give up.

In my dream the cardboard box on the floor is just filled with broken circuit boards. I don’t need them. As I turn to go, I see a few old sketchbooks on the window sill, then a few more. I stuff them into my backpack, worried that I was about to leave them.

In my dream there is muted gold and something about shoes fitting.

In my dream I’m touring the graduating student show and there is just one piece that I think is good: two paintings of cartoon crackers. The first has the word STALE painted across it. The second says ME TOO.

In my dream the textures are many and varied.

In my dream the balcony advertises adventure mode and I decided to order from the local Chinese restaurant in resentment.

In my dream the streets are cluttered with furniture. I have the keys to my old brownstone but I won’t use them because other people live there now. I try to remember the two kinds of dog food that were left out.

In my dream I ask “Why is this here?” at the upper end of the plaza. “It’s a year’s worth of programming ” she says in agreement, and launches into a story about how Japan wasn’t for her. I run my sneaker over the slippery metal grate.

In my dream I don’t want to head into the echoing church dressed as I am. In an open casket is J’s dad, and my hoodie is far too casual. I grab the knit cap off my head at least as I look at the six other mourners. J deserves better.