The conga line of one legged tourists that kept weaving in and out of my dreams.

Stealing eggs from my dream for breakfast. They kept on breaking. Who would sleep in which bed. Caroline was mom. I was aunt. Finding shitty spots to live under the freeway. The goodwill. Elaina found two harps in the long train of rooms like the Poe story about hell and masks. She would teach me to harmonize. Sunset in the snow like the battle with the Hun. Bears instead. The cabinet.