I was in some city on a sightseeing/school trip, and sometimes this city was Venice and sometimes it was Hong Kong. I sat down at a long table next to Henry, for example, and said, “How come I only see you in Asia? I never see you just shopping at Kroger or Wal-Mart in Bloomington.” So clearly we were in Hong Kong. I heard people speaking Chinese. There was a large, bald, muscle-bound Mr. Clean-type man driving our bus and he was speaking Chinese, though he was of indeterminate race. I think it was hot and smoggy and full of traffic. But I do remember going into a little shop by the side of the road that was run by an American guy, and full of D&D and historical reenactment crap, and thinking, “If I came back to live in Venice, maybe I could hang out at this store.” So some part of this amalgam was definitely Italian. The bus driver man found me in the store and yelled at me because we were all running late, and I had to run beside him back to the bus. His legs kept moving faster and faster, but I kept loping along at the same leisurely pace, and somehow stayed right next to him the whole time. We got on the bus and it zoomed off at high speed through a number of unlikely loops and curlicue ramps while he complained about how we would be late.

I was in some city on a sightseeing/school trip, and sometimes this city was Venice and sometimes it was Hong Kong. I sat down at a long table next to Henry, for example, and said, “How come I only see you in Asia? I never see you just shopping at Kroger or Wal-Mart in Bloomington.” So clearly we were in Hong Kong. I heard people speaking Chinese. There was a large, bald, muscle-bound Mr. Clean-type man driving our bus and he was speaking Chinese, though he was of indeterminate race. I think it was hot and smoggy and full of traffic. But I do remember going into a little shop by the side of the road that was run by an American guy, and full of D&D and historical reenactment crap, and thinking, “If I came back to live in Venice, maybe I could hang out at this store.” So some part of this amalgam was definitely Italian. The bus driver man found me in the store and yelled at me because we were all running late, and I had to run beside him back to the bus. His legs kept moving faster and faster, but I kept loping along at the same leisurely pace, and somehow stayed right next to him the whole time. We got on the bus and it zoomed off at high speed through a number of unlikely loops and curlicue ramps while he complained about how we would be late.

Molly and I were driving to Washington D.C. We somehow stopped in St. Louis and I was on my bike, coasting down a freeway off-ramp past walls of ivy. We went to her parents’ house, which was in St. Louis for some reason, and Lee said he wanted to work in the airport. I started to tell him about Steve and how he went to flight school. Mary interrupted to bring us some pizza. Then Rahul and I were in a van; we stopped at a stop sign, and ran to pick out red balloon pieces that looked like shredded flesh out of a nearby tree. An old, crazy woman in another van was watching us. Her van was full of fabric scraps and string and pieces of wood, and somehow I knew she was some kind of occult guardian, and wondered uneasily if we were unwittingly doing something very, very bad by picking up the red balloon.

There was something else in my dream, I think about lace knitting, but I can’t remember what it was now. I remembered at the time thinking “oh, how funny, I think about knitting all the time but this may be the first time I’ve dreamed about it,” but now I don’t remember what the dream actually was.