In my dream we sneak back into the apartment on 94th below West End, the one I’ve dreamt of many times as my perfect place. People are moving out and I flatter the landlord, trying to find out the rent.

In my dream he tells me that the email request I sent out has provoked 1.6 million responses.

In my dream I head off to the movie theaters in the basement on Third Avenue and East 6th Street, despite thinking that every one of these brick buildings could pancake. Eventually the whole scene has become a “Fulci film, starring Jan Michael Vincent” as ghouls devour each other.

In my dream I slip on the vintage gold platforms in time to shop the antiques. Even though one is a little split, I love what they do for my outfit.

In my dream we are in a quiet, sophisticated and somewhat downbeat Casper cartoon from the 1940’s: a sideshow of rag-tag ghosts who wryly go about their day.

In my dream he is a dog. He was a dog.

In my dream I grasp at a floor plan from the back of a car. Riding is not an issue.