Construction Beneath A Building  I'm in my friend Hank Anderson's car with Hank, our friend Stephen Ramos, and others. We pull up to a building next to a small space in the wall. Hank points to the hole in the wall and says we're going down there. The car is on an elevator platform, and it drops down. We go down into a construction area. Men are working hard, wearing hardhats. It is a neat looking area: dimly lit with a clean concrete finish, very modern looking. I feel out of place, like I shouldn't be here, like we all shouldn't be here in the midst of this construction site. Stephen drives off in Hank's car to do what he needs to do. I wander around away from the construction. I walk through a very modern looking area that is clean and fancy, with glass and light green colored tile. I go into a bathroom. My friend from high school Sam Kingsley is there. The urinals are very small and narrow. They spray water at one's pants when one flushes. I wonder what all the nicely dressed businessmen do about that. I urinate in the sink. While I'm urinating two businessmen come over to another sink to wash their hands. One of them makes a comment to me insinuating I'm not clean. I don't say anything to the asshole, but I lather up my hands when I'm done urinating to show that I'm clean. My coworker Tom Olson's dog is there. I don't like the dog. I want to hurt or kill it: eradicate it. We all drive home. We need to drop people off at different places. The car is crowded with six people. People make jokes about me and something to do with an erection. I was in the middle of the front seat, but now am in the passenger seat, which takes me out of the spotlight for being made fun of. I don't want to wait to be dropped off: I want to be dropped off first.