Sitting on a bench amidst the Goddess exhibit at the Met, I watched the people pass through the final room of gowns on display. Tired, I leaned back, my head against the wall. Mostly women walked through, generally older, with a few college-aged girls and older. A pair of gay guys held hands. Then one guy followed his girlfriend in and spied me, yawning. He put his hand up to his head, forefinger pointing at his temple, thumb toward the ceiling in that childhood hand symbol for a pistol. He pulled the "trigger" while making a "bang" sound. I smiled and nodded. He laughed.

Last night I dreamt I was at Coors Field in Denver watching a baseball game. The space beyond the outfield walls was several swimming pools, and I looked down at one point to see that the outfield itself was as well. When the outfielders would run across it, the sections beneath their feet would turn to solid grass, then back to pool.