Arizona

Dream: I am sitting on a conveyor belt, deciding whether there is a difference between sadness and defeat, when the conveyor belt lurches forward. Because I am comfortable, with my knees drawn up to my chest, I don’t climb off. I move along with the conveyor belt and keep on thinking about sadness and defeat, because it’s dark in the factory, and it smells like metal and straw. Sadness and defeat are not the same thing. I get off the conveyor belt. There are some people here. They have no faces, but I know who they are. They ignore me. They are putting bags of flour on the conveyor belt. No one looks at me. I want to shout. I say hello. But they are too busy to answer me. The flour is heavy, and the bags are not properly sealed. White dust settles in the air. The lights go off and come back on. One of the people puts his arm around me. We are trapped in the parking garage.

Nightmare: I am meeting with a realtor in a small wooden shack in Arizona. Dogs are barking outside. It is sundown. The realtor introduces his son to me. The son puts his mouth on my face. He tells me there is no dishwasher, no washer, no dryer, no water. He tells me he lives next door. He tells me he has water. His dogs number between five and ten, depending on puppies. It is too late. I have already chosen curtains to fit these windows in this small wooden shack.

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