I've come back into this house where someone I know lives and teaches dance [is she a personal friend? - don't know]. She's a little like Amanda, leaning toward the dotty side, older but won't act like an old woman. Her living room is smallish, a little dark with only a couple of table lamps lit (it's night-time) - flowered couch down the side, coffee table piled with books and notebooks. [Seems like this is a college town or neighborhood, and everybody is either attending or teaching or something. She's a regular fixture herself and has a kind of professor-status.] I've come in a bit late. The class she's been teaching is just leaving, they're milling a bit. The teacher's not visible, she's probably in another room. One kid (tall, reddish-blonde, swaggery) says she's through for the night, too late, or words to that effect, but I know she needs to see me (or vice versa? or mutual?), so I'm gonna stay. She'll be out. Meanwhile I pick up a book off the coffee table to look through. I thumb through it and light on a particular page. It's a kind of who's-who, and has little bios of people. This one is describing Alan Nagy and has a picture. At first I only glance over it idly, noting the expected, that he has a degree in psychology, went to such-&-such university. Then I look closer, because the picture doesn't seem to fit, and realize that he was actually only noted for psychology on the side. His main focus was art, and this picture shows a huge sculpture being lifted upright with scaffolding. It must be bronze - looks it - and the caption says it's eight feet tall. There are a couple of men in the picture. I expect one's Alan; I'd like to see it closer, I want to see what he used to look like, but I'd need a magnifying glass and more light.