I am about to go to a party with Amy, Blake, Salina, etc. Melissa is with me right now, and I think we’re at Dad’s. We go into the garage to pick a few beers from a case (*they look like the Lost Coast ones). While we’re getting ready/are ready, a dark SUV pulls into the driveway. The people about our age in it are dressed up like it’s Halloween and are coming back from this party like it’s already over. One of the guys seems a little too intoxicated. We stop and talk with them for a little. Now I’m thinking about the possibility of them offering weed at the party. I consider if I’d accept or not and how much, if any, I’d mix with drinking. I’m in a bedroom, writing down either the notes for a dream I’ve remembered or the dream itself. Dad and Scottie are in here too. Scottie is awkwardly watching me, seemingly amazed. It’s kind of annoying, and I think about going to a different room.
I am working at Dillard’s, and it seems like I’m working the fitting room in men’s. A middle aged man comes in and is looking for something, a suit coat I think. I think I help him find one. He tries some on and finds one fairly quick. Before he leaves the dim fitting room, he asks me if domestic? or something else is okay, sort of discreetly. I hesitate and tell him ‘domestic’. He nonchalantly thanks me while holding out a wad of bills. After he’s gone, I see a receipt for $100? and a tip of $40 - what he gave to me.
Something about Sam and some guy. Sam and this less-than-quality guy are hooking up or dating or otherwise getting together at some level other than friends. I think all of us, and Brittney?, are outside. Sam and the boy go up in the hills. He has blond hair and a typical ‘fuck boy’ style. I think he is also up to no good. I am at Beer NV with Melissa, Brooke, and I think one other. It looks almost entirely different though, looking more like a restaurant, with different sections of tables. The energy is more subdued as well, feeling like a lazy afternoon. I have sat at the table in the midst of their playing a game that consists of a coaster sized circle piece with dots in equal increments around its perimeter. The players are supposed to connect the dots by choosing a person in the spot that correlates with the dot. The person or the connection of the dots is based on how many siblings the chosen person has? The connections then become edges along which this circle is cut, creating a new shape. (The object may be to produce a certain new shape?) On my turn, I pick Brooke. They ask ‘you think?’, mostly rhetorically but partially seriously, as they have already tried choosing Brooke but are also running out of possible solutions. Now, everyone here is playing a new (trivia?) game. An employee (Deborah?) is coming around, checking for people using their phones. I am on my phone, but I’m only checking the tap list on Digital Pour. I lock the screen and lay it on the table, seeing no need to worry about it being out if I’m really not cheating. I think about how I didn’t know they do this many games here. I now think I’m ready for another beer, feeling fine to drive, and alternate between the menu on my phone and the physical menu just within reading distance, up on the wall. The hanging chalkboard? is quite large, though the writing is small. It hangs above a rectangular table that is behind the bar counter, which is also fairly large. Two men, one old, sit at this table. Nobody else is going up to the counter, but I think it is still okay to do so. I now have a glass of beer, but I am outside with Dad and Melissa. It looks like the old house’s backyard. Dad starts talking to us. He has a few more sips of a dark beer in the glass in his hand (a nonic pint type) and the indication of more than a few sips past in his eyes and speech. This beer is a contrast to mine, which looks to be blood orange. Dad ends up showing us pictures on his phone, his age betrayed by how he holds it and swipes through pictures. One of the pictures is of Dad standing and smiling with a younger blond lady. The next picture is that same girl and one other, seated on a bench on either side of Dad, their shirts held open, small tits exposed and nipples censored (by some overlay/exposure or addition to the photo). I almost think he’s going to realize he didn’t mean to show us this one, but he leaves it up and starts giggling unabashedly. I’m not sure what to do other than laugh along at the entire situation.
I am walking up to a restaurant with Mom and Makayla. It is dim or dark outside. I think this place is Italian. We’re greeted by a hostess at a table on a little covered section outside the place. She seems sort of somber and then ends up telling Mom something like ‘sorry about Catholic Charities’. I think she is going to relay to the manager that we’re here. We walk in, passing all the tables, and end up in a large back room. It seems like it’s more for staff. There are a few giant pizzas and large portions of side dishes set out on table clothed tables. Some employees are casually coming and going while we’re in here, so casual that I hear one cuss. I now grab some food. I go back for some mac ‘n’ cheese, the underside of which is badly burnt, a black crisp. I think it still tastes fine. There is a subdued sense of excitement that this is going to be comped because they actually care what happened with Catholic Charities.
I’m in some fairly upscale restaurant with Mom. it sort of looks like the Atlantis buffet. We walk up to a counter. There’s a server, white, probably late 20’s, in all white, a chef’s hat too, I think, what comes up to greet us. Mom says something about a drink - beer or wine?- and I get concerned for a second. She specifies to him “Clausthaler”, and he pours one. There is also dessert - I think for us. The man is putting pieces of cake on separate plates, focusing on an appealing display.
I am, I think, outside of a large, unfamiliar house. It’s slightly above me in elevation, and there’s a slightly winding walkway down to the water? It ends in an octagonal and covered dock. It’s covered in what seems like a green canvas material. There are multiple pieces of it, resulting in slight openings where their edges meet. Someone is/was with me; I ask her if she thinks the weed scent would linger down here, and she says no. I recline in a chair and light a joint. After a few tokes, I shake off the resulting clump of ash.
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