We were on some kind of bus tour of quaint little towns, perhaps upstate. We all got off to visit a sort of souvenir tchotchke shop. S. knew of it, knew the owner for some reason. Signs and messages on the building indicated that their political views might differ from ours and I hesitated, but S. said it’s OK, let’s go. After I stepped off the bus I realized I’d left my flip flops behind. Rather than going back to get them I wondered whether I could buy some at the shop, or perhaps there was a shoe store nearby. The ground did seem gravelly. There was a delay for some reason, a period during which we couldn’t enter and had to pass the time wandering the streets. My dad appeared, as though he’d been with us all along. “I took the opportunity to buy some alcoholic beverages,” he said quite uncharacteristically, with a wink. He turned to reveal that his backpack was full of ice-cold Corona Light. Not my favorite beer, I thought. But fuck it. “Great, Dad!” I said and took one. It tasted bland but refreshing. Exactly how you’d expect. We walked together, beers in hand. I held mine close to my body, knowing you couldn’t drink in public. Dad held his normally, unconcerned. “Conceal it, Dad!” I warned. Sure enough we approached some cops, a checkpoint of some kind. I was sure they’d stop us but we managed to walk straight through.

I was walking home. The Grateful Dead were playing in my head, as though I had earbuds on but I didn’t. It was one of those antic shows where they don’t play the usual tunes but transition from one weird cover to another, possibly with guest musicians onstage. They followed a calypso number with Bob Weir singing a tentative take on “Blue Christmas.” Must have been festive season, I thought. I walked up the wrong street and realized I had to go over one more. There was a steel bridge over a river, the Gowanus I guess, though that’s not near our house. In my dream it was familiar and correct. I was unable to use the sidewalk and found myself in a strange, maze-like structure adjacent to the bridge. There had to be a way out, I thought. Surely this was designed for human beings. I walked down a little ramp and saw that it gave way to nothingness, and I’d have to clamber over the railing and jump to the floor to escape. I imagined being trapped here. There’d be a viral news story, “Man gets lost and dies in weird industrial space.”