I had a dream about Louis Vuitton bags last night. But then I also had a dream I was living in the 16th century and my parents accidentally time-travel-copied themselves and ran into themselves in a dark transport tube and killed their copies, then tried to hide the bodies but were discovered and condemned as witches by the townspeople and sentenced to death along with me by burning while buried waist deep in the ground, only I was a chicken and my mother escaped carrying me and I was forced to be a fugitive from the law, hopping over backyard fences and through neighborhoods and finally up and down skyscrapers in elevators until a whole mob was after me and finally after countless close escapes I was tired of running and tired of being alone and a little Indian boy caught up with me with whom I promptly fell in love and we became partners in crime fleeing from the masses and exploring buildings until one day we were detailing our escapades on his bed and his mother became suspicious that I was the suspected witch and we were forced to flee again, this time to a movie studio where floors 17 through 34 were full of props and sets and we wandered about looking for food until a group of interns rushed up all laughter and joy to have a picnic on set and I hid with my lover in the bathroom her white skin dewey from the bath as one of the interns struggled with the doorknob and my heart thumped as she screamed in horror at the death marks that appeared on her wrist and I clutched her to my bosom, water dripping on me from her soaked gown as I cradled her head into my neck and she sobbed and I comforted her and rocked her and made soft cooing sounds and finally the interns left all but one and that one peeked through the door and looked me in the eye and then we all three of us knew this must never been spoken of to Anyone.

So, I guess that’s a wash.