In my dream they own a stacked wooden record rack.

In my dream the crimped black paper cube is passed from hand to hand.

In my dream I down a pint of beer: the first two gulps are crisp like a pilsner but then it quickly turns thick and honeyed against my tongue.

In my dream we ask if the person currently in the role is going to continue when the show leaves previews. The response is that the doors of the cargo elevator close in silence.

In my dream I turn the box in my hands over and over, remembering each time that the contents are blue and pink.

In my dream there is a lull in the campus lockdown, so I take the time to shop for a costume at the thrift store, picking out a split brown belt that I slip over my head as a kind of medallion, matching my brown vinyl pants. I’ll need to get inside soon.

In my dream there is the bog.

In my dream T and P have taken a chair out of their living room, revealing the wooden floor. I am shocked, but can breathe.

In my dream she keeps urging me to authenticate the coloring book she holds near her khaki outfit. Her persistence is a motif.

In my dream he offers to let me get behind the wheel of the steel cart so that I can drive it around the parking structure and pull up next to the stacked wooden crates. I am Shakey but only slam into the wall once, explaining that I still can’t quite gauge the pedals  through my shoes.