I am in the ceramics room, that doesn’t look like any room I’ve ever been in:  larger, one wall all windows, narrower.  There’s a new girl, Natasha.  I was putting glaze onto a recycled plastic bottle that I was covering with clay.  I realized you cannot glaze straight on the plastic so I was wiping it off.  Natasha was being really mean to everyone.  Some time later I am walking up the steps to a school, which are like the steps up the Art Institute of Chicago.  A girl is sitting on the steps and two are walking up ahead of me.  The two tell the one that she was mean to Natasha, and they don’t want to speak to her anymore.  I hear this and sit down next to her after they leave.  I tell her that they are wrong and it’s ok.  Rumor had it that Natasha was crazy and they took her away. 

Natasha is on trial in a very empty room, just her judge and plaintiff.  I am not there.  Natasha tries to defend herself.  She’s not doing a good job.  This isn’t her first attempt.  I come in with a girl on the steps.  I am carrying a bag of loose leaf tea.  We start telling the judge that a chemical has affected Natasha’s brain and made her have Turrets or Down’s Syndrome-like symptoms.  We fed her the tealeaves and instantly she’s back to herself and not mean.  I still didn’t like her.

I am in a gallery that looks like the UICA and the Art Museum in Flint, the room with the tapestries.  I do not remember who I was with, but they had my dead dog Ginger with them.  I held her leash for a while and thought it was strange that no matter how much she moved I couldn’t feel her pulling.  I walked out of that room, and on a railing some people were smoking cigars.  I smoked one with them.  Then I had to go tend to the “men in the tub,” whoever they were.  I stood on the edge and adjusted the showerhead.  I don’t know why.  Three men were in the tub, all fitting comfortably having a meeting.