This one is somewhat murky, like the darkness in which it took place. It was 2 a.m., and I was in the apartment of a colleague from a Florida community — but the place seemed to be Chicago. I needed to take a train, but when I arrived at the station I realized that I had no money. I found some change in my pockets, including a large $10 coin in the shape of Ben Franklin. Naturally I found this fascinating and did not want to use it.
I don’t know whether was in a dark underground train station or at a dark underground party or bar. Someone I had gone to high school with, who was in the class behind mine, kept trying to put his arm around me, which embarrassed and disturbed me. I sensed that his attentions were somehow hurting a potential relationship with someone important to me. I started to feel like I was highly desirable to many if not all of the men around me. There was another man who expressed interest; he was physically unattractive but interesting and compelling. I both craved and feared his attentions, the latter for the same reason as before — that being seen with him would hurt a desired relationship. He seemed to be an aristocrat of some kind.
I saw a man, a famous actor whose persona and work do not appeal to me, lying on a lower level with his head on a rock, pining for me. The rock was engraved with my image or name. This turn of events, combined with the surreal dimness of the setting and situation, confused and upset me. I did not know what to do.