I'm in an office. My typewriter and adding machine aren't working correctly. I hit a button and it compulsively, mechanically repeats itself. I take the ailing machines to be fixed. Someone says, "The adding machine is fine and the typewriter will work most of the time." Some students come in. It's the end of the term and they're late with their papers. I realize that I am too. Andrea is also. We're at a meeting to discuss the lateness of the papers and if it will be accepted. A prim and proper female supervisor presides over the meeting. As she drones on, Andrea and I whisper. Andrea says she doesn't want to be here. She's bored; she has more important things to do. I agree. The disapproving supervisor asks what was said. I blithely say, "Oh, we were just saying how we don't want to be here." She frowns and I vaguely realize that she could take that remark in a negative way; I am just being honest and open about my feelings. I shrug my shoulders. Andrea and I whisper some more. I want to talk to Andrea but I don't want any more disapproval from the supervisor. I suggest to Andrea that we talk about it at another time. She suggests Tuesday. I say, "Today?" She says, "No, next week. Isn't next week O.K.?" I had told her this week, but I agreed that next Tuesday would be fine. I say, "I'll get something to sit on." "No," she says, "I'll get one for you." I misunderstand her word, something about "tarrer." It's a foam pad to lay on at the beach, so I don't hurt. The students, one female, one male (Mark H) are in the background. The girl is looking at birds and trying to name them. Mark H says, "I've got a new place to stay now." We see it as if a movie camera is mounted on a helicopter. At first, we are impressed. There are so many lovely windows and so large, very handsome. Then at a closer look, there's tar paper where the windows are.