In my dream our plot relies on deploying a new super-abrasive water charged with “citrus husks”. We discuss this under our breaths as we move through the levels of the corporate offices, past the water chamber and out towards the orchards. The time is coming and our conspiracy carries an erotic charge.

In my dream I walk through the old shopping district of Philadelphia, with arcades crammed with men’s wear shops and tiled walls with signs forbidding public sex. Each street alternates between waves of shoppers and scattered unhoused men.

In my dream there are twice as many students in the classroom than at the beginning of the session; an impossible number. Their casual chatter drowns out my attempts to get their attention and one young person is circulating from group to group whispering about how the staff is resigning.