I'm in a sort of police station, I think - a very plain room with plain desks and chairs, gray colors - and a woman is interrogating us, or maybe only the man I'm with. I'm paired with him [for reasons unknown] and James Dennehy is paired with another woman. The man is rather short, middleaged, wearing a suit - I think the interrogation is about him, and his wife beating him or something. It's a pretty cut-and-dried business, and over soon. James and the woman leave first, then us. We don't go the same places, and on my way home I decide I should go check on him, so I go to his apartment, which faces out over the sea on a hill, with a lovely terrace down below the long row of doors. His is right above the terrace, but I'm not positive which one - they all look alike. I know exactly its angle from the terrace, though, because I've sat there. But the terrace is overgrown with some sort of vines or long stick-like plants that have grown up from below - how could this happen in only a few hours? They're about halfway up the steps and over the floor of the terrace. I start down the steps, thinking I can get by them, but then realize I can't. Hum. So I go back up and pick a likely door. It seems like a good choice, because as I stand in front of it, I see it's shorter than the other doors - I would actually have to duck to get in. Even the building is shorter than the apartment next to it. I knock on the door, and to my surprise, James answers, "Who is it?" He lives next door to the man, so it must be the next apartment I want. It turns out James has just now gone to bed after talking to the little man - he just left, seems to be all right. I say how sorry I am for disturbing him (he hasn't opened the door, we've been talking through it) and that he should go back to bed. I'm in a prison, visiting with another woman. We're in an open area where a couple of very wide corridors meet and a sort of terrace begins. It must be late afternoon, the light is getting dim and yellow-gray. We sit down on a couple of long park benches. (Seems like we read or study for a little while.) After a while the men (inmates) start coming, and they gather around to talk to us, and we talk to them. (We're here for some educational purpose, I'm not sure what - it's as if we're teaching them something, like sages or something.) They crowd us a bit, and a few of them hold out things they want us to take, and I'm saying, "Guys, you know I can't take this - you know better than that!" (Because of the rules.) Gradually they go again. I'm smoking a cigarette, and I've been flicking the ashes on the floor. I'd just done it automatically, and now I see that there are no other ashes or butts anywhere, except mine. I'm about to crush it out on the ground, but I'm feeling very self-conscious about being so messy, so unthinking. I could have found (asked for) an ashtray, after all.