In my dream a group of young people show up in the room I’m working in on campus late at night. One holds up two frayed USB cords, explaining that he needs to fix them, but he’s so vague that I figure out that none of them are even enrolled. While kicking them out I wonder if they’ve lifted a bunch of my stuff.

In my dream I’m going through all of the collages, handouts, zines and ephemera I’ve gotten over the past couple of days. I put the good stuff in a small bundle. This dress doesn’t  have pockets. I missed out on the short rib at the buffet earlier.

In my dream the late night gatherings in the glass fronted corridors are turning orgiastic as I walk through. All my planners have been stolen and steam is spilling out from somewhere.

In my dream we are invited to dinner at an embassy only to arrive for the announcement of a coup. We laugh it off until it becomes clear that we need to escape the increasingly brutal building. Every room is now an abattoir.