October 10, 1989

Fog everywhere with multicolored lights, vaguely psychedelic. Army men m green camouflage fatigues carrying guns (rifles). Army men move towards me. I wake up.

October 31, 1989

I come home from [wherever]. At the house I find Dave Marchesano and two friends. One is white, thin with long light brown hair in ponytail. Wearing jeans, slightly old, but no holes. Old Adidas and psychedelic band shirt--no sleeves. The other is black short, heavy with kinky hair, blue sweatshirt and dark blue pants, work shoes. Dave is wearing a light blue tank top, white shirt, jeans and black sandals. I say:

"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Just moving some stuff."
"To where?"
"Storage."

His friends act uneasy. I hit Dave in the face, then go into the bedroom to see what's missing. Everything's OK. I walk back and realize the stereo speakers are missing.

"Where the fuck are my stereo speakers!"
"I knew we should've had you here."
"Why, everything here's mine."

I go into kitchen for coffee. When I return another piece of furniture is missing (hutch with back rail). Parts of rail are on floor.

'Where is it? I'm calling the police."

Dave and I tussle over phone, but I get it away from him and start to dial.

"I'll show you."
"You'd better."

I pick up pieces of rail and set them aside. We go outside. Door closes and self locks. I realize I left my keys inside. Dave's white friend gets out a brand-new copper set of keys to door. I take keys away from him as I realize mine were in my hand.

"Anybody else got any keys?"

Everybody does and I get all of them. I realize Dave's come back to finish stealing what he couldn't in February of 1989.

"Take me to the storage place."

Dave and I go to a light blue van. I see missing hutch. When we go through back door of van we are in the storage place. We go down huge sloping plywood steps (about fifteen feet high. As we approach last step I realize I can't see Dave anymore, but I can see an open door. Guard warns me about the steps.

"They're steeper then you realize."

He looks like Bert on TV show "Soap". I go down steps (normal sized in concrete, grey-painted railing, grey nylon seats) towards door. I realize the guard has already gone in. Police style guards are starting to lock door.

"Don't lock it yet, one more."

I almost trip because two women in black dresses, mink stoles and gloves (one is grey, the other auburn) have their hands on the rail. I wake up.

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