I dreamed that I had moved to New York. I found myself in a dark and dirty apartment somewhere, with an unknown number of roommates. I looked out the window at the street below and watched the cars racing past. I decided to go outside. As I left, a man at the door asked me what I was going to do. I said I was going to buy a copy of the Times and come back, and that then I had no idea what I was going to do. He gave me a housekey.

I wandered out to the street. It was night, and I was surrounded by pedestrians. I was enchanted by the strange city, and felt that I would soon be lost. As I was walking, I stopped to look into the windows of a restaurant, where a television was on. A baseball game was shown, the Mets were playing the Tigers, so it could only be the World Series. The Tigers had just taken a 5-4 lead after a grand slam home run. Remember that one, readers.

I kept going, and heard a familiar voice. It was an old coworker of mine, who recently moved to North Carolina. I said hello and I think she was drunk. She kept walking, didn’t stop to chat. I heard my cellphone ringing in my bag, so I answered it. A man’s voice on the other end told me to pick up something for Shiv’ah dinner. I asked what I should buy. He said to buy a bag of sugar.