I was riding in a car with three other people, not clear who they were. I was wearing a suit and tie for some reason. I felt self-conscious, being the only one dressed up. We drove into San Diego. I realized we’d just recently driven into LA. The highway became a dirt road, like a dirt path through a massive construction project. “It’s always so weird coming into these southern Californian cities,” I remarked. “Always so dreary.” We passed the football stadium and realized that it being Sunday, the team was playing at that exact time. In the dream they were the Rangers.

I had just entered high school. It was a good school, well-regarded, but authoritarian. We all had to get used to being yelled at by teachers, their strict demands. There was a bass player in the school who was a prodigy. Kids gathered in the hallway to watch him through the window of a band rehearsal room. He was warming up with ridiculous thumb-popping riffs. Then he and a band played some heavy metal tune. It segued into a Michael Jackson song.