Checkpoint  I'm at the Uptown shopping mall and I buy a big brown short-sleeved shirt with some strips on it. I go out the JC Penny back doors. I ride in a car with a family. There is a lady driving with an infant on her lap. Two girls are in the back with me. A boy is in the front passenger side. We go by the liquor store. The baby kisses its mother, using its tongue. The mother kisses back, with tongue. At the corner of Main Street and Oak Avenue we are stopped. On the corner there where Nantucket's furniture store is there is a checkpoint. They are checking for a disease or a problem. I know I have been to this place before in a previous dream. They take my photograph while telling me to look at a small black plastic card with some numbers on it. I am sitting across from a woman who has blue hair. Her hair is short, and in a messy, dreadlock-type look, all bunched up in places, pinched together. She has fishhooks all over her head and in her ears. They are stuck in her hair. I think of telling her that once I pierce my ears with fishhooks, but I don't. The workers there want to turn on a television. The radio is already playing. They give me an identification card. It's black and white and fuzzy. The photo on the card isn't me. The name on the card isn't mine. There is a sort of code on the back, like a UPC code, I think that is where the cardholder information is.