We were hanging out every day at the same run-down bar, populated by riffraff and ne’er-do-wells. I considered the difference between a dive bar and a regular bar—you got watery ice in your drink at a dive bar, and less booze, for example, and the floors and walls were dusty and grimy—and this was definitely the former. I don’t know why we kept coming back, but it was our default location. I had a sense we were getting dragged down by the place and its people.

I was recalling that night in North Franklin when J. T. and I drank a jug of wine. How it could be that I felt fine the day after, but I really felt fine.

We were hosting a party. It was our home but it didn’t resemble our real home.. I was in a hurry pouring margaritas into little glasses before the guests arrived. When they did some were people I recognized, others not. J. L. commented on the large quantity of mites and mite dust. There were two people with guns I didn’t know. I sensed that they had some kind of extremist political views. They went out on the balcony to smoke. It reassured me to see them sitting out there, facing away, not an immediate threat to anyone.

I was at a meeting for my old job in the client’s building. I went to another floor looking for a bathroom. I found one and it was unisex. I got back to the meeting. The client was some kind of foods company. They gave us sample packages of their sauce mixes and weird instant products. It felt like we were going to get the business and it felt good.

I was at a house party that lasted days. At one point Madonna arrived. She walked in with a bit of a smile saying, “Yeah, I’m Madonna.” She wore her hair short and dark. I was at a soccer stadium, watching a World Cup final between Holland and France. Holland went up 2-0 and then France scored on a weird, close-range shot that dribbled past the keeper. I woke up very late in my dream, thinking it was past noon, relieved it was only 11:25, but still dazed and a little bit ashamed.

I was a freshman at Yale, arriving on campus, figuring out where my room was. Everyone gearing up for the start, forming their cliques, deciding where and when to get wasted. My roommate was an elusive, shadowy figure. I wasn’t sure when we’d meet. There was an orientation desk in the dorm and the woman asked me for my phone number. I had trouble remembering it, but I gave her my actual current phone number. I told her to dial it just to be sure. My phone in my bag buzzed when she did and I said, “That’s it!”

There was a long way to go to the gig. We stopped along the way at someone’s parents’ house. Not a band member’s parents. It was Sara’s cousin’s parents, except the father had divorced the mother and now lived with a younger woman who greeted us and invited us in. We’d be spending the night and making ourselves at home, but really tiptoeing around self-consciously, trying not to inconvenience or intrude. It was a beautiful, modern home set in the woods. Jackie was there, but was a younger version of herself, rolling around in the shag carpeting of the living room.