I am in a house. A man, presumably my "husband," and I are cleaning out the closets. The second hand man comes to pick the stuff up. I point to a box of stuff and he takes it to his truck. I notice my husband's motorcycle was with the box and I call to my husband that he accidentally took his motorcycle. I then call out to the secondhand man that we don't want to give away the motorcycle. The secondhand man tries to console us and then gets a bit sarcastic. We don't change our minds, but insist. He gives it back reluctantly. I go to a room and see clothes hanging up and laying around. I hesitate on some of the outfits, but with the encouragement of my husband, am able to get rid of most of them. I get rid of slim wool skirts like in high school, a green net and chiffon prom dress, baby clothes, dresses of my girls when they were small. I keep one baby outfit because someone I know will be having a baby girl soon. I see Paulina B sleeping on a single bed; she is maybe 6 years old. We go down the hall, peeking into each room. I see a closet with bags and luggage and leave it there, because they belong to a guest. Finally we have cleaned out the whole house. We feel good about it. The secondhand man, now has a punk rocker haircut and is sarcastic. "Gee, with all this, I guess I'll only have to come back once a month!" Good, Bob," says my husband, sarcastically.