In my dream we improvise a clueless stroll looking wealthy and stupid. They have stopped sedating the increasingly angry animals and instead shove needles into their human prisoners in the field vans.

In my dream the person in front of me is explaining how the ice cream line works until suddenly I’m the next and I don’t know where to sit in the black room, much to the annoyance of everyone behind me.

In my dream the banner is already folded and I try to find the right angle to photograph the building at night.

In my dream we are battening down and speculate about the mogul: he’s so attracted to a cartoonish maleness, why hasn’t he courted Pacino? Cats have come in. A small chocolate one hides behind my leg. “You’re like a cookie!”

In my dream the New Year’s Eve party is almost over and there are just a few of us left in the apartment to watch the slideshow.

In my dream the leaf display affirms our choice, delicately.

In my dream I keep running afoul of the server at the corner diner until I absentmindedly step out of the door without paying the check.

In my dream I watch a large and special kind of folding.

In my dream I think the little shop on 93rd and Amsterdam will have the key charm I want.

In my dream I punch his smirking face and slack, unresponsive body over and over until he tries to ether me.

In my dream we head to the waterfront in the early light. She shows me her technique for picking pockets at subway turntables and is angry when I say that I can just pay for us. We have so far to go to get out of the country and then I know it’s to help her quit heroin.