A man who is also a woman, or a woman who is also a man accompanies me to a photo shoot. He/she hands me a plate of salad then stands next to me. He/she points out his/her boner under black leggings. I'm open to the boner, but lose my appetite. He/she follows me around the photo studio and continues to show me her/his boner. I don't want to see it. I tell her/him to go away. He/she stabs me in the arm with a plastic fork.
I'm in place that has appeared once or twice before in my dreams. The setting is hard to describe in a visual way. It a place of feeling, feelings of routine and exploration, fear and wonder. I do notice the blue sky and the shell of the building I'm in. It's like a theatre set almost. There are multiple rooms built into a larger space. The cast from Girls weaves in and out. Adam is a prominent figure and I am his girlfriend, not Hanna, but the new one who has recently broken up with him. I make arrangements to go to the studio to shoot the next day, thinking it will only take an hour. Supposedly I am on Coney Island and the Studio is on Staten Island. Everyone assures be there won't be traffic and that I'll surely get there in 30 minutes. That night I'm feeling rushed. There are too many things to accomplish and I don't don't what to tackle first. Adam, who is now a cross-between my husband and Adam and my ex-boyfriend, takes out his penis. It's large and erect and I remove it from him like it's supposed to be removed. Like it's held on with velcro. I masturbate with the penis while my cross-over mate watches me with subtle interest. I suggest he put the penis back on so we can do it together. He seems rushed, but agrees so we do it for a minute until we are interrupted by a few more of the characters from Girls. They are all needy and remind me of my toddler. I get up, look at the clock and realize it's way later than I thought. I have to be at work in 20 minutes. I rush to shower and put my clothes on. I tell myself to put makeup on in the car. Earrings too. I drive and get lost in a sea of traffic. I don't have the studio's phone number. I finally arrive to a neon bowling alley, which is also the studio. I roam through alleys looking for the camera crew. A Native American woman approaches me. "you're too late." She says, despite my apologies and declarations of traffic. "You have one more chance." She says. "The next time you are late, you are fired." I feel panicked, knowing that I'll surely be late again.
