In my dream an idea hits me as I stand on the wooden floor of the Park Avenue Armory: a massive volleyball game, one hundred players on each side. It will be a perfect activity for all of us, post collapse.

In my dream she is serving behind the bar, twice.

In my dream he is pushing about in a faded apron and with two stubby pigtails in his hair so I make him sing a bit of “The Worst Pies in London”.

In my dream she hikes up her vinyl skirt and winks so I lean forward and plant a kiss on her right ass cheek, to her amusement.

In my dream she says “Be careful! The Academy knows what you were doing with the Peggl”, alluding to a scrawled word game. Annoyed, I say “It was my birthday. We were messing around!”. It’s only later that I wish that I had asked how they knew.

In my dream I thought it was a cute cricket to capture, but it was a stinkbug. Only one of the three elevators went up to my floor.

In my dream we are all in on it. Everyone is going to read something at the event, but only a few of us are going off to hide the body. The seafood buffet is crammed with roe, shellfish, and greasy filets piled above head height and doused in garish cream sauces. There’s barely room to walk and a fight is breaking out.

In my dream I can’t recall the texture of my car.

In my dream there is so much I can’t see.

In my dream I’m about to walk upstairs in the parking structure when some headlights above me get too close. I don’t want a conversation, so I hide behind the wall.

In my dream I realize that after days of hanging out with this theater group I could just stop sleeping on the floor and walk home, with a stop at my favorite bookstore.

In my dream we all hunt each outer like this: identify suitable prey, present hunter ID card and attack with bladed weapons. My father is close to being caught and I search for a hiding place: out the back door, through the arching reeds and ultimately on the neighbor’s cluttered roof. I inject my insulin.

In my dream they pop up on the paper, like a board game you walk across.

In my dream I am driving towards a wall while my head switches.

In my dream I crawl across the plaza on my belly, hoping to turn a corner and disappear from view.

In my dream a small group is playing golf on a patched hill.

In my dream the shell of the turtkeychain flips open and a small pencil sharpener slots into the revealed cavity. Is it on the carpeted floor of the shop like a patient sub.

In my dream I walk through the Bronx and down into Manhattan, past stone bridges where an older woman is selling used clothes and luggage , past a nighttime neighborhood where the men are amputees asleep in the corners of subway entrances. I am followed, mocked and threatened. Something in the air smells delicious.

In my dream I can see the posts in the dark room.