In my dream he is finishing up the tattoo in a small bedroom and noticed that the whole parlor is coated in grime and  is unsanitary. I go through the drawers looking for anything in need to take back home with me. For once I’ve left no loose ends.

In my dream something funny and delightful is going, has gone.

In my dream I negotiate a conflict between two factions, reframing their positions in terms of practical demands.

In my dream we are burying the yard tools along the ball half of the street. Faded white lights strobe in the thick, soothing air. I find the patched-up bathrooms from the 1920’s deep in the station and use them.

In my dream the back wall falls off of the viewing platform. It’s a quick rescue in the snow.

In my dream I am not alone but those around me have nothing to do with me. The rectangles are over there. I am satisfied.

In my dream the time is expiring.

In my dream we float down to the swampy earth while we argue.

In my dream there is a rectangular area of superimposed unreality hovering at head height. It is my turn to do some matchmaking.