I am writing on a cushion I've drawn pictures on. I use a blue pen, that can't xerox. The pictures are like embroidery or needlepoint. I step back to see what it looks like. You can hardly see the writing. There is a small round cushion on the square large outside cover. I consider getting a better-fitting inside piece. A daughter asks me a favor to go with her to exchange a bottle at a store. I tell her I'm tired and have much to do, but we go, with several wives of my ex-husband. It's 1 or 2 in the morning. I look around in the store/tower and see lots of women looking or waiting for someone. We go to the next store. Lovely glassware and in the back of the store, plastic things, like laundry baskets. I comment on the juxtaposition. We go on. I find a name of a man who's looking for a roommate. I knew him. My father suggests I move in with him. I shrug. It's time to xerox something, but some papers fall on the glass and need to be moved quickly as I've already pushed the start button. I tell my father impatiently to help me. He is slow and ineffective. I then do it myself.