In my dream I feel the muted shuffling of the rooms possibilities.

In my dream two young men push their way into the back room of the shop where I work, ostensibly for water. Their manner touches on violence and I resent having to give them no cause to erupt.

In my dream the surfaces of the city are curdled with grit.

In my dream I’ll fly back to London from Istanbul tomorrow, so I do some quick shopping in the warehouses: trying to find a knee length gingham shirt that fits leads me to a rack of over printed jeans in searing colors. I feel smug.

In my dream we return to the character evaluation.

In my dream Russ and Nadine are naturalists.

In my dream I am having sex with A. He is so abundant everywhere. It’s like exploring a beautiful island.

In my dream they have come back to the streets with a table.

In my dream his speckled rubber mask fades into the dark green of the evening field. We peel it from the ground and debate it.

In my dream I’m brought before a monstrous Hollywood fixer who proposes slicing one of my fingers because I have breached some part of my contract. I’m terrified at first, but become more and more belligerent, fighting him with brass lamps and eventually a gun I grab from him.