Dolores M is trying on some clothes at a store. I see that the hooks to hang the clothes are way up high too high to reach. They follow the slope of the stairs. I say, "That's silly. Why did they do it that way?" Dolores has very heavy makeup on her face. She's here to interpret for the deaf. As I am standing, talking to her, two or three men of color, one black, one or two Native Americans, crowd around me very close. The black man is softly kissing my neck from behind. The Native American man is to my right, talking softly. Another stands some distance from us, but he and I are talking with our eyes and occasionally words. Now I'm seated in the front row. A show of some kind (fashion perhaps) will soon begin. I see a baby and ask to hold it. His blankets are all wrinkled up, so I lay him down on the floor to straighten the blanket up. I end up with the baby in a metal box that cramps the baby's legs up. I hold the baby to my chest and am concerned if it can breathe because the metal lid has closed. I open it some and say, "Boy, this baby sure doesn't like this!" I feel a little sorry I'd gotten it in this predicament. [BL]