Thursday, July 24th, 2003

I wake up in a hotel room (or someone else’s house). I realize I’d left a small bottle of lotion in the bed and it’d left small stains on the sheets. I try to lift the sheets off so the cleaning people will change it. AJ (or another male) is staying in the room with me.

I go out to have breakfast and see my mom busy in the kitchen. I see tons of food, mostly meat, chicken, ribs, etc, on the tables. I ask her about the ribs and she says they’re from Subway. “Oh, those fake things.” I say. “Yeah, but they’re ok.” She says.

Later…

I’m in a small plane piloted by Alan Cumming. He leaves his pilot’s seat and stands at the front to look out the window (like in the lead car of a subway train). We’re flying over a beach, dropping lower and lower. We skim over the heads of people and even go under some bridges. I’m impressed (though not alarmed) at how low we are. Later, I relate this story to someone.