A month or two ago I dreamnt --
I'm in the converted van that I live in, an old Scooby Doo-like van with a beaten brown patterned couch set along the right side in the back, and it's temporarily parked in a dilapidated wooden garage set on a hillside where I'm living, and much of the small faded brown curtains are drawn in the van and I know that the windows are closed in the garage, too, along with the garage-door, but suddenly in the dim sunlit afternoon I know that a van window is off, and I look around the edges of the curtain, and there there's a small-paned side window that's cracked open with several panes missing, and I suddenly know that I am unable to lock my van, and I hear voices coming from outside, but not thieves's voices, just voices of people who are somehow nearby, but nevertheless I somehow know that I need to attain a means, somehow, of securing my place, and soon.
. . .
(. . .)
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