5 April 2010 5:00(est.)-5:25
I am in the apartment at A. I get up from bed, out of my room. Lucid, and with a towel draped around me, I hover past the hallway railing, softly touching down on the floor below.
I walk out the front door and into the apartment compound: some things are not as they are in waking life. The place seems sparse, empty.The building in front of me is missing its windows. The gate is of a rusty orange, and the sky and unnatural shade of charcoal gray.
And yet, everything seems clear and solid, real, as the concrete steadfast under my feet. I close my eyes and spin once; for a split second, the world twists out of shape and begins to fade, but then it bounds back again, still vivid, unchanged. I am satisfied. I turn left, further into the compound, where in place of the neighbor's parking space are two traffic islands, filled with raw earth. On each digs a worker, in blue jeans, a white tank top, and a white hard hat. I walk up to one of them, and he turns to me.
'What do you need?' he asks.
'I want a Cracky.'
'A Cracky?' he promptly picks up a large rock and props it against the curb beside me. 'This will do.'