I was at a panel discussion held in a bookstore. The panelists were J.K. Rowling, Kevin Smith, and Britney Spears.

I dreamed of an instant ramen version of Finnegan’s Wake.
There was a sunflower through whose seeds you could see straight into Hell.

I had gotten a human arm from somewhere and decided to cook it. It smelled strong and distinctive, somewhere between frying bacon and the slightly sweet, slightly sour stench of rotting meat. People kept coming into my house to chat, and I got more and more nervous. “They’ll think I killed him, even though I didn’t, I just got the arm from someone else!” I thought; I just wanted to cook it to see what it was like. The smell of the arm grew unbearably strong.

I made plans to go away for a week, and then I realized I was going to miss Martin’s farewell dinner in San Francisco (tonight, in real life) and I was bummed. However, I was going to visit Molly in New York, and I was excited about that. The airport had a very fast moving sidewalk–you had to leap on and it practically threw you off. I came out blinking into Central Park–it was a little hazy out, an autumnal afternoon–and saw her across the park, sitting on a blanket. She got up to come and greet me.