Suriv

I am working in a bookstore in the United States. It has either just reopened or finished reorganising after (a wave of) a deadly virus. We are restocking books on to racks – I clearly remember the spot on the floor where a sanitiser-cum-sink stood, housed in a tall, square cross-sectioned natural finish timber upstand-

One of the (two) tall windows to the front of the shop, to the right, has been replaced with an opaque red pane – apparently this has been newly installed to provide some protection from a forthcoming storm. A young Bruce Dern-alike is making a good point about how come the other window, the one that happens to overlook his section of the store floor, has not been similarly upgraded. Another member of staff quips that it is because he is expendable-

I then make the mistake of pumping a hand sanitiser, the long tube/spout of which seems to stretch over the top of the till/computer station. There is an immediate fuss and we all cluster around the screen to the front – I pumped from the back – to see if it is still working. It is! Then it isn't... the screen striped with white vertical lines before suddenly cutting out. I then attempt to fill the till, which has a tiny cash drawer (full of paperclips and wire ties). What I assume to be money is much the same, packs of paperclips and fat wire ties about an inch long. I suggest, given the risk of spreading the virus, we only accept 'contactless' payments and the inter-staff debate that ensues means that my “can I help you” towards a waiting female customer, who has been roundly ignored, is too late. I then turn to my right and ask the same of a young mother with a pram-

Roferrady

I am back at my old Ferry Road flat in Glasgow – in a sense it's a more spacious, unfamiliar dreamescape version. My little brother is also present and we are both horrified as the walls are all damp and bubbled - “Dad destroyed the flat”, he says. The place is unfurnished. I think the concern is it was cleared for sale and it is now ruined. It seems our father applied something to the surface of the walls that has soaked up all the moisture and then, the internal insulation totally saturated, poured it out again. I duck away from the corner in the hall, a fly/wasp buzzing at a particularly gnarly looking corner of balled damp by the ceiling-

I enter (an approximation of) my old back bedroom and notice the window is open, that the window has been left open and it is seemingly impossible to lock it partially open-

Whitrge

I am with my work colleague Gee Bee and (also present, in part) is the actress Francis Conroy (Mrs. Fisher from the HBO television series Six Feet Under)-

To begin with a large group of children, around 8-10 years old, has gathered outside the (vague) two storey house we occupy – it is not entirely memorable and is sparsely furnished like an aged storeroom – and Gee says they are clustering there as a mother has posted on Facebook about the (mass) bullying and harassment of her son, “not a wise idea”, according to Gee Bee. It seems the mother, a sturdy looking woman, is patrolling/corralling the mob of kids and Gee and I (outside suddenly) are ducking down to avoid her (although I have no idea in what capacity we're actually involved)-

Inside the house I open a small timber bedside cabinet/cupboard and therein is the head of a Great White shark. I squirt some sort of cream (as I've been taught to do?) into the shark's mouth, aiming in and around its teeth. The persistent rhythmic gnawing ensures that this magical cream spreads over the roof of the Great White's mouth, giving a smooth pink finish that now covers the top set of teeth entirely. I then slam the timber cupboard door shut. This is not enough to stop the huge fish and the shark thumps open the flimsy door, wriggling and twitching its huge bulk into the centre of the room – the cabinet is in the far left hand corner. I beat a hasty retreat to the door (guiding Mrs. Fisher to safety at the same time?) and head upstairs to Gee Bee, who sits in a back room with a large window that overlooks the ground/garden. Now that the shark is out in the open(?) I am desperate that it should be rescued and returned to the wild. I ask Gee Bee to Google “Great White stranded rescue” and such variations, suddenly concerned that it will return stories of rescues and not someone who who will or how to rescue. To my frustration the results show up on Gee's long white t-shirt and as I scroll down (towards the groin!) I make some joke about conducting a “safe search”-

As two or three huge, cartoon-ish sea monsters surface in the garden - “this is getting a bit out of hand” - Gee Bee's next search is something like "toxic India”, returning a bunch of related news stories. I then, observing the sea monsters dipping up and down below the surface of the garden, decide to drop down and check on the Great White. There's a small boy who sports thick NHS spectacles (playing a video game) and not only am I surprised that he is safe but also that the Great White shark has vanished-

Churgg

I am meeting/recognise my old school friend Gee Emm. He seems (in the dreamescape) to be working what is best described as a 'blue collar' job, some sort of (manly) manual work and I encounter him sitting, his back to a wall, legs outstretched, clad in his dusty blue overalls. He is on some sort of break/downtime between shifts and is surrounded by a line of his resting fellow workers. We get talking and he looks happy but unsettled. He comes over to join me and a look of concern crosses his face as he tells me there is an outbreak of AIDS among the workers. I gather it is only one or two (clusters?) and he doesn't seem highly concerned (although I sense he is rambling his way around to addressing a more serious point). He then, quite strained, says, “you know how it is... he said, 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'...”-

(there's an abrupt dreamjump here almost as if I exit the scene to process what Gee has told me – that he has in fact been raped and contracted AIDS)

Gee and I, still chatting, are making our way up a very tight staircase, fashioned from white painted gloss timber, that twists and turns (on it's way to his 'digs'?). At one point Gee seems to lean back and stretch up to a (hidden) shelf, switching off a video camera recorder (that I can only assume he is using as a means of evidence/protection). Further up he does the same with a similarly secreted camera, setting off the shutter/flash as he does so. I vaguely hear him explaining something away - “aw, it's alright, it's just...” - to someone on the stairs behind us, the tight and steep environment making it impossible to see just who-

On reaching the top Gee finally breaks down in a distraught confession and is only stayed in his teary rambling by the appearance of his wife (at which point he quite capably pulls himself together). She is slim and blonde and somewhat arch. She is framed not by some cramped, basic accommodation, but instead emerges from an open double doorway into a vast church-like room, the back wall of which has some sort of quasi-religious display of candles, illuminated and actually quite transcendent. I marvel at this – it it near Christmas? Gee's wife sits herself on a bench in this epic ante-room and begins, to my surprise, to quiz him (on more innocent matters) with more than just a hint of disdain and, given his very real situation, a total lack of sympathy or understanding-

Orzzle

My friends Ayy and Gee Ess are having a joint (and impressive) art/architecture exhibition. The abstract designs and concepts are almost like feathery coloured pencil drawings blown up impossibly large, gently sweeping and curved linework quite unlike anything I expected to or have seen either of them do prior-

Korygman

Ryan Kogman

Wyttef

Somehow my young son (20 months old) has managed to get uncooked rice grains in his right eye. They are trapped, jammed up under his top and bottom lid as well as clustered around his tear duct/puncta. He is quite (understandably) distressed as I struggle (to keep calm) to wash out/remove the rice-