In my dream the courtyard is filled with stuff for the game, seen in glitchy black and white.

In my dream it’s spider season, as proven by the cobwebs that spiral out from each lamp and plant on my shelves.

In my dream it is colored like an oyster and knee deep.

In my dream we sit in the cafeteria and design the community teaching program, based around twenty-one hour blocks.

In my dream the plague doctors are once again confirming twenty-one shapes.

In my dream there are two different sizes of boxing ring but only one has enough room for us to lie down after we have laid all the equipment out.

In my dream A and I are rolling around together and as much as I would like to continue, I kiss their hip and tell them my event starts in just an hour.

In my dream I begin to question if my friends should fly the plane I bought on eBay back to the East Coast; their stuff is on board and they are mostly seated, but so much could go wrong: can they really pilot? Where will I store the plane out there until I can fly it back? Meanwhile the plane idles on the grass of the back yard.

In my dream printed paper tape reinforces the bottom of a cardboard carrier, which seems to be an elegant solution.

In my dream the notice says that the event will happen at 1pm after “Kid’s Punjabi Football”.