Francesco was in Milan and I was staying with him. I got on the subway and went somewhere, then on the way back realized I hadn’t written down his address and didn’t know where he lived. I went to the counter to ask for help and they looked at my boots and asked if I’d worn them on the subway that morning. I said yes. They said I couldn’t go on the subway again because I’d ridden on it too recently; hard-soled shoes wore down the cobblestones in the subways and so you were only permitted to wear shoes in the subway once a day, to preserve the historical subway stones.

There is a large, bright (almost hot) pink rosebush down the street, with big bright blossoms all over it. I dreamed about it, but in my dream, the blossoms covered the whole thing, pressing right up against each other, so that you couldn’t even see the foliage or the branches.

I was riding in go-karts, which in my dream were like bumper cars on the electrified ring, but shaped like huge, round plastic saucers with little bumps (so you couldn’t be hurt since you were in the middle.)

I was impregnated by a cult leader (who was a hugely unattractive, flabby, pale white guy wearing a see-through mesh shirt)–I wanted a baby but not a relationship with him.