I am in bed with Rochelle. We haven't seen each other for a long time. She really likes me and respects me. She curls up with me, spoon fashion. It feels very warm and affectionate. I am aware that she is gay, but I feel comfortable and relaxed, not uptight and worried. I have a pack of cigs and fumble them. They fall out of my hand into a narrow dirt ditch by the side of the bed. I try and reach for them and end up sliding out of bed and reaching my arm down. I finally get them and get back in bed. Now Rochelle is laying sideways at the other edge so she can see me better. I feel a bit more comfortable that she's moved over there. We talk and I smoke. I want to put out the cigarette and she says, "There's an ashtray over there." She reaches for the cig. to take it over there for me. I fumble and it drops on the sheet. It rolls around, lit, and Rochelle tries to pick it up and it's hot and she keeps dropping it. I don't help very much. Then I go to look for a bathroom. I find one. Rochelle is talking about her lover, a young woman, and how hard it is to keep her. Now the scene shifts and I get in a chair (an ordinary office chair) to drive/fly away. It rises up above the street. I feel some concern as I feel where the backrest is before I lean back. It feels loose and precarious. I lean back carefully. Then I wonder how this thing can fly because it has no fuel/energy source. But it does. I'm going down the street and want to rise up higher so I can peek into the second story windows and see what people do and how they live. It does and I do. I get to an office. Two other women are waiting. The door opens and a black man says, "Who has an easy request?" I say, "I do," and I go in ahead of the others. I sit and he says, "Lots of times they say it's an easy one, but they turn out to be the most complicated." I grin in recognition and say, "You're right. Mine probably will too. Shall I go out and come back in?" He says, "No, what do you want?" I say, "Not much. I want to work with people on drugs and with AIDS and at a college level, but colleges don't pay very much. I want you to subsidize me." He asks, "How much?" I say, "$2,000." He asks, "Where do you want to work?" I say, "With the inner city kids. In Queens." He says it's unusual for him to be working with college level stuff, but he did have one dean still writing to him. I am aware I'm being selfless and asking for worthwhile stuff and he'll give me my request. I see his Negro mouth, huge lips, open in an "o".