Dreamt of a joke: “Coming out as bisexual. Isn’t that just a way to brag that you’ve been with more than one person?”

There had been some kind of work conference, a discussion of new technologies, in an open space on an airport mezzanine. Suddenly we were outside, and the space we’d occupied was now two large, old cars. I observed the action outside the airport, the crowds bustling by wheeling their luggage, buses and taxis driving the maze of approach roads. I noticed two workers carrying something long across a crosswalk. The light had turned and they were rushing to get to the other side before the cars came. They were too slow. A pickup truck veered towards one of them, angrily, as though to punish them. It hit one worker. The occupants, two or three men, climbed out and attacked the man who’d been hit. They chased him along the sidewalk and got him on the ground. One attacker brandished a stick. I was among several people making a video of the scene with my phone. I felt ashamed, and suddenly realized I should call 911. A woman answered and put me on hold. Music played. She finally transferred me to a number that didn’t pick up. The line went dead. I tried again, got disconnected again. I tried again, same thing. By now the fight was taking place inside one of our two cars. The victim was cornered in the back seat and his aggressor was beating him with the stick. Finally two muscle-bound cops wearing black tunics arrived to sort things out.

On vacation by the ocean somewhere with a weird group of people, some of them kids. I was sleeping a lot. There was a car race on TV but I woke up after it ended.

I was sitting in a parked car watching a man and a woman who stood in front. I wondered if I could read their lips—if it was something I could spontaneously learn just by will. I couldn’t really make out what he was saying. But then she spoke into her phone and I could read it, or maybe just hear it because she was closer to me, I don’t know.

I was rehearsing with C. D., then C. W. showed up. they went away to discuss something in private, at C. D.’s insistence. I hung around waiting. I noticed that R. P. wore mismatched shoes and I was amused. “Nice shoes,” remarked M. R. When they came back C. W. fired me from the band. He started out by saying nice things to soften the blow, like, “You’re pretty good at playing the piano,” but i knew what was coming. We were living in a sort of hippie compound, weird people coming and going, fans of the band. It was unclear how everyone would react.

I was on a business trip to Chicago, with L. C. from work. We met up with an all-American white collar type who made raunchy jokes as banter. He said he worked on the 14th floor of his building and I considered asking him if it was the Sears Tower. We were meeting in a big restaurant, possibly connected to a hotel. I found old friends at a table near us and went to greet them cheerily. At one point J. A. from way back when was there. We did a strange pantomime of going to hug each other but acting like we were held back by the wind. I was conscious that people were watching us and hoping they’d be amused.

I was swimming in shallow water at a beach.

Then I dreamt about Sally and Jay. I had a debate with J. L. about repressed memory therapy. Someone came to Jay for help reconstructing a traumatic memory from his childhood riding the school bus along Route 2. He wanted to go back out there and see if it triggered something.

I was trying to find a bar where I was supposed to meet up with J. K. Rode the bus there, got off too far away, had to cross all these big. complicated avenues.