In my dream the consolidation of the art world continues: walking through a blocks-long mega gallery, I meet five different women friends who have been hired there in various capacities. Each is tidy and glad of a job, part of a swarm of activity. The show features hundreds of antique traveling trunks.

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.