Stealing A Rye Fruit  I'm outside a grocery store with two men I don't know. It's night, the store is closed, and lights turned off. There's a security video camera near the entrance. The men throw four packages of toilet paper at the camera to knock it off its normal surveillance area. The camera clicks a flash photograph, pointing directly at me. I quickly cover my face, but it's too late. They succeed in hitting the camera. We invade the building. The small store contains mostly fruit. One of the men is from North Dakota. He grabs a brown rye. It's stringy, like the outside of a coconut. He takes a few bits, then gives it to me. I take bites. It's sweet and good. We hurry through the store, taking two or three fruits. I think it's dumb to take just a little bit: not worth the risk of entering. We run into the back loading area and I see metal doors, like a garbage disposal or a loading ramp. I push an object away from the doors that is outside the building against the doors. We access the outside. It's a semi truck that I pushed. We jump out, having escaped. It doesn't look like we're being followed, but it's difficult to tell. We go down a dark alley away from the store. I'm worried we're being pursued. I walk faster, leaving them behind. On my right I see the backside of three houses with lights on. I see my ex-girlfriend Annie Thomas in each of the three houses. She looks exactly the same in each house: older, wearing a bright yellow t-shirt that has something to do with swimming. She has longer blond hair. She is attractive. She lives in each of the houses.