Dream

Here’s a dream from last night.

I’m aware that I need to have a dream. I think I can fake it with materials I have in my car, including a brochure for a nudist camp. I can use it to create a fictional person. I’ll say I had a dream about him, but he refused to do anything. He’ll be this inactive person, doing nothing. I imagine he’ll have dark curly hair and be about forty years old. But first, I need to move my car, where I can retrieve the brochure.

There’s a young man in the back seat of my car. I greet him and then ignore him as I go about searching for the brochure. I don’t want him to know I’m going to fake a dream. My car is in a back alley behind a service station. It would be easier to leave it there but it needs to be moved. I walk around, looking for a parking space. I come across a photo booth store where kids get videos made. I watch for a while as kids make goofy faces; I’m watching on a monitor outside.

I enter an area with old couches and benches. A few men are talking about a woman they know in common. She’s associated with the video store. As they talk, I realize she’s a sex worker. They’re enthralled by her and begin to try interesting me. I excuse myself by saying I need to move my car. I’m also aware of needing to fake a dream. I now have the brochure in my hand.

I don’t find a parking space as I walk. I decide to get the car and take my chances. The car is a Chevette I drove in high school. The young man is no longer in the car. I drive around a bend into a suburban area. I arrive at my childhood home and park in front. I’m in a buoyant mood, singing Elvis Costello “Accidents Will Happen.” I encounter a woman who is also singing.

I enter the house. There are many people and I belong here. There are several nude teenage girls. I kiss them each hello. The house is a kind of brothel where we’re all sex workers. It feels very relaxed.