Yes, this jumps around quite a bit.

I am going to get my hair done — highlighted. On my way, I end up running into Andrea, a co-worker from the company I used to work at. The area I'm in strikes me as Norval (the far side of Georgetown), though it looks not much like it.

I locate a hair salon, and go in to speak to a hairstylist. Along the wall of stylists's chairs inside the salon is the opening to a 6-foot wide pipe. The pipe runs from the salon horizontally to, what I can see out the window, a large dry pond bed. If the pond was full, it would be maybe 8 feet deep. but it's dry. It does not occur to me at the time that, should the pond be full, the salon would be flooded. However, it does occur to me that they must have some security measures to close up the pipe every night when they close for business.

I am looking though colour swatches and find some of the ones I used the last time I had my hair done. An older Korean lady tells me I cannot pick from that book, and hands me a ring of hair swatches. Some are long and furry, like the flowers of a chenille plant. The colours are bright, sparkly and tinsel-like. I recall thinking they look fun, but are probably not for me.

We are upstairs in the salon, in the bedroom of Matthew McConaughey. The bedroom is untidy, with two twin beds. The beds do have sheets, pillows and blankets, but are unmade. There is a dresser between the beds. I don't notice what is making the bedroom seem untidy — must be general bedroom stuff (clothes, books, etc).

I am reclined on the bed waiting for MM to come into the room. Andrea is there too, standing by the bed, and we are chatting about nothing. MM enters the room and we start to talk.

He starts to say things that I don't agree with. The content of the conversation is beyond my recollection after I awake, but I do recall his comments are distasteful.

I look around the room and notice there are large houseflies flying around. The closer I look, the more there are. There are hundreds. Maybe thousands. These are large, hairy houseflies - the largest I've ever seen, but still realistic in size. They are on the windows, the grid tile ceiling, the walls. They are clustered in twos and threes, and the camera of my dream zooms in on two involved in an act that seems procreative.

I'm shocked and disgusted by the filth, and stand to leave.

I notice as I stand up that there are hanging flower baskets. Inside the baskets are decaying plants, and larvae eating away at the plants, writhing and audibly eating. Sucking and chewing sounds, small, but by the thousands. I realise MM is intentionally breeding the filth.

Andrea and I have to duck to avoid hitting our heads on the baskets, although we both accidentally bump the flower baskets once or twice. We are revolted.

MM asks us where we are going. His question is more of a statement to get up to observe what's about to happen. He starts clapping his hands — once, twice —I turn around to see the flies starting to swarm. MM delights as the flies are swarming to the upper left corner of the window (which covers about half of the far end of the room). The sound of buzzing is overwhelming. In the same corner is a spider web, and the many flies are being caught in the web. The buzzing is in anger and horror. His clapping has driven the flies into the spiderweb to die.

I scream at the actor "You are sick! Sick sick SICK! You sick sick fuck! What sick person breeds creatures only to torture and destroy them?! You fucking twisted sick fuck!" I am screaming this as I storm out of the building.

I am outside of the building now. "What a perverted... twisted... sick sick person."

I continue to scream at the top of my lungs about MM's actions. It's less frequent now... the type of screaming a drunk person does after a confrontation, as they replay the events in their mind. Andrea makes some statement along the lines of "he wasn't so bad" and wanders off east, away from town. She demonstrates tolerance and acceptance for MM's behaviour and pastime.

John approaches me. He has wandered into town from home looking for me. It is as if he knows all that has transpired. We are walking west, in the general direction of home as I say "I don't think I will see her again ..." speaking of Andrea.

We walk to another salon and I open the door. The place is empty. I scan the room and find the books of hair swatches. As I pick one up and open to look through it, a woman comes into the room to tell me it's Sunday and they're closed. The only way out of the building seems to be a sliding basement window, high off the ground (Don't ask me what happened to the door I came in through). We try to get me out of the salon, and discover I can barely get my head through the window, let alone my shoulders. Firemen arrive (they must have been called). They come in through the front door. They grease the window and I am able to pull myself the rest of the way through, out to freedom.

-30-

kat@adchick.com