In my dream someone has used toilet paper to outline several figures on the side of a truck and as I pass it I want to photograph it ,leading to me fumbling everything out of my pockets unable to find my phone ,or bring up my camera app or frame the shot. I refuse to give up.

In my dream the cardboard box on the floor is just filled with broken circuit boards. I don’t need them. As I turn to go, I see a few old sketchbooks on the window sill, then a few more. I stuff them into my backpack, worried that I was about to leave them.

In my dream I’m touring the graduating student show and there is just one piece that I think is good: two paintings of cartoon crackers. The first has the word STALE painted across it. The second says ME TOO.

In my dream the streets are cluttered with furniture. I have the keys to my old brownstone but I won’t use them because other people live there now. I try to remember the two kinds of dog food that were left out.

In my dream I ask “Why is this here?” at the upper end of the plaza. “It’s a year’s worth of programming ” she says in agreement, and launches into a story about how Japan wasn’t for her. I run my sneaker over the slippery metal grate.

In my dream I don’t want to head into the echoing church dressed as I am. In an open casket is J’s dad, and my hoodie is far too casual. I grab the knit cap off my head at least as I look at the six other mourners. J deserves better.

In my dream he asks me if I want a series of things including a Baba Looey. In anticipation of the squished ball of discolored, sticky brown rubber, I explain that while I like the design of a lot of those sixties Hannah Harbera characters, I don’t like many of the toys associated with them.