My apartment, not this one, was dark and oddly free of clutter. I filled the sink to the top with water and detergent, then talked to S. A. online. He mentioned water, which made me think I should check on the water in the sink. It was still there, but there were enough puddles on the drain board, counter, and floor to make me think that there must be a leak. I couldn't find any cause, but the more water I wiped up with paper towels, the more water I found. Finally I looked up and saw water marks on the ceiling and wall behind the sink. I debated with myself what I needed to do first—go to the bathroom or call the manager.
Mixed up with this were memories and feelings associated with the tiled entry area of the old Loblaws in the old South Shore Plaza in Hamburg, New York, where we used to run into friends while grocery shopping. I tried to remember what it looked like and to recapture how it made me feel; in some intangible way, the lighting, the tiles, and the gum ball machines, combined with my impressionable age, made it a special area.
Then I found myself outside on a street watching electronic billboards with the stock prices of Loblaws and other grocery chains. I looked for Tops and Super Duper, too.
My dreams are becoming a little too closely and obviously derived from part of what is on my mind these days.