It was late. All the lights were off in my apartment and I was standing by the ledge near the driveway window with my trusty digital camera. The windows on subdivided house next door were particularly reflective and I could see into Attic Girl's apartment via the reflection. I tured off the flash, the LCD screen, the noise made when I pressed the shutter button and anything else that might conceivably give away the fact I was voyeuring her. Mostly it was a waiting game since she was rarely in the room where I'd get my shot.

When she was in the room, I saw she was naked and accompanied by an Indian girl. Attic Girl and Miss Nahasapeemapetilan were naked or at least they were topless because I really couldn't see below the waist. Three photos later, my camera died because somehow having all the bells and whistles turned off actually drained the batteries faster than if I had them turned on. Despite my attempts at stealth, Attic Girl noticed me seeing the reflection in the windows that I was using to my advantage.

Her friend had moved back out of sight while she leaned out the window, dangling and shaking, shouting at me that I was in so much trouble. Now I was cursing the camera for not having any more power since I thought it'd be a great shot. Attic Girl surprised me while I was slinking down into the shadows and shouted that she could see me trying to hide. Fuck. Reckon if I backed up rather than laying low eventually I'd completely disappear. The further I got, the darker everything got and when I tried to turn on the camerae again I could faintly see by the red low battery light. As I went deeper into the night shadow of my apartment, the further away from the apartment I was because now my apartment was bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. See House of Leaves. Only things I could discern in the faint light were hundreds of black pipes reaching up into the cathedral darkness of an unseen ceiling. Everything was black and not very reflective but I guess red light has special properties that bring out the details in an environment that would be lacking in them. Out of concern for myself, I turned off the camera and inched forward hoping to reach my apartment. Soon I was back at the ledge, squatting down like a WWI soldier in a trench.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach when the lights in the upstairs apartment went out and I could hear thumping feet. Yet I never heard someone banging at my front door nor were there any angry people squatting down and peering into my driveway facing window. I searched the floor and eventually founds some batteries and turns out I only had one good pic where the girls were facing each other, Indian Girl's tits were fully visible while I only really got a side shot of Attic Girl's tits. Looks like they were comparing or something the way they were holding them.

When I got up to peer out the window again, the driveway was no longer there. I was looking across the street from my parents's place in New Jersey. Of course it was still my apartment in Colorado. It was still nighttime. The house across from Cottage was lit up but no one was home. Also I got the feeling that Attic Girl lived there too. Now my lone vigil in the night wasn't about potential amateur and voyeured porn but hoping that she doesn't come over and tell my folks.

How sad.

Well she was walking on the opposite side of the street towards the neighbor's house that belonged to her in my dream. She didn't see me or look in my direction which was good. When she went inside one of the first floor rooms turned from black to bright green. I guess it was some futuristic remodelling because I knew, the way one knows in dreams, she just bought the place.

Dad called me upstairs. He had just built a new bathroom which was nothing more than an indoor outhouse. Fortunately the hole was big enough for my ass without making me fall through. I sat in the outhouse while he told me that my maternal grandmother wanted me to visit her in the worst way. I was too engrossed in a book than listen to the particulars. The book was a strange amalgam of those lines found on sheet music, Latin characters and some other strange, non-waking life characters which were easy for me to read. Sad that I don't remember the story or what the book was about.

Fast forward a bit through this boring lull and my parents were driving me to the airport. Now I was complaining that I wasn't allowed to bring any books on the flight, how they packed everything but wouldn't let me pack my bicycle. My bicycle was very important since I knew I was going to be bored and stranded at their place with no place to go and my bike would be a great way to feel independence and blow off some steam.

At a red light, I hopped out of the car and started running downhill in New York City. Abandoned and burned out cars lined the street. A lone cop was wandering around, examining the cars and haphazardly issuing tickets. One car seemed to be under repair by a black guy in a maroon track suit. The guy was rolling tires down the hill towards a wrecked Cadillac the color of his clothes. The cop stopped him and questioned him if he owned the broken down wreck and if he had permission for using the tires.

Around this point, the dream wound down.

When I got up, I had Bing Crosby's rendition of "Accentuate the Positive" stuck in my head.