What fine whistling! You’re quite a
whistler! Thoughts caught in the steam
off piss. I’m having an average day and,
me being average, it’s not so bad. Why
dream, anyway? Last night I took Dodie’s
writing class and my project was to get
all the men to masturbate in the shower
together. It was an all-male class (that’s
so me, right?). The showers only fit
two-to-one, so everyone had to pair
up. Somehow it was agreed-upon,
and I got Tom, my first boyfriend.
But most everyone was done by the
time we started—half the class could
see into our shower, so I was just
too self-conscious to enjoy it. Otto
is moderately amused by the dream,
one that woke me with the thud of
relevance, as dreams can do. Maybe
I just needed to pee. My eyesight
is going. Let’s backpack around
the Mediterranean. Nothing to
wrap around that dream except
fire sirens. Upset about a fat
breakfast, calm it down with a
trek for vegetables between
rainshowers. Two pots of
coffee, a banana, and a fitful
nap. Good things come
in spurts. I’m fresh out.
Wake up to pretty coos
and the notion of an
all-day sofa. Otto’s
at Sugar. I’ve a date
with Otto after class.
