Last night I dreamt about ordering Chinese food in a dark room with people I couldn't tell if I knew or not, except I saw Richard climb towards me on a bed in the dim glow, and I pushed him away. Someone handed me what I had bought; it was a live white dove that was hopping around on the folds of the blanket and squirming restlessly in my cupped hands.

I helped Isabelle cross the road through large crowds of people. She was going to MICA, but the buildings were different and she was still ten years old.

After Richard another boy tried to come near me, and I said something about George. I went to go find him. He was in an empty warehouse that was painted completely white, lit by the glare of artificial overhead bulbs, and he was walking in between giant wooden crates of the brightest blueberries I've ever seen. They were spilling over the sides and he was nailing grey pigeons to the wall. He said it was for me, and I thought they were more beautiful than the dove. Each had gold flecks in their matte colored wings of lavender and blue.