Part I: WANTED BY THE FBI
I am heading to a beach house on an island and am on either a train or a ship going over water. Sitting quietly and anonymously, I am paged to the phone, which is mounted to the wall of the train/ship. A young pilot with wavy reddish hair announces that it is an important call from the FBI. Stunned, I say hello and a hysterical woman on the other end relates how her husband has betrayed her. I do not know the woman or how she knew of and located me on the transport. All that aside, I try to comfort her with the fact she is in the company of so many good women who find themselves being eliminated in the love equation by espousal fickleness. Feeling made quite important ( the FBI and all) I take my seat and resume the journey.
I take a call from the FBI.
Part II: LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
Instead of the beach house, I am let out in an older suburb of Los Angeles and I go in and out shops and residences as if with a realtor. We take note of the negative aspects of the buildings, in particular the balcony/patio of one residence, presumably a rental. I admire the handiwork in the shops.
I walk through buildings in LA.
I swear I change bodies with other people at night. Once I dreamed I boarded a submarine at Gwynn's Island and came up near a big city at night with all the amazing lights imaginable. Evidently I lack stimulation for which I compensate in dreams.
I marvel at the night lights of some unknown city.