Spot lives on 440 Wallace Ln. Lysol lives three blocks down. Every afternoon, on their second walk of the day- Spot and Lysol meet on the corner of Catharine St. When Lysol sees Spot he pulls and pulls on his leash and calls to her. Spot does the same, and they pull their owners along the curb until they bump noses. Spot swings around Lysol - and he ducks back. They tangle up their leashes as they smell and nuzzle one another. The people stay behind. Up there, make sure to stay far apart. But the pups don’t know any better (or worse) and play together. They only know one thing - “Like you!” said Lysol “Like you!” said Spot Like you! Like you! Like you! They rolled around together on the sidewalk crud. Two tiny chihuahuas, one with spots, one fuzzy and white. Like you! Like you! Like you! Every afternoon. “I am so small,” she said. “So small with such big feelings” (s/o Kelsey) I want to kiss you like people do. With long arms to hold you. I want to stand tall and lift you up and spin you around! I want to hold your hand in my hand. With fingers interlocked. I want to link elbows and do se do with you like old timey people. I just want to dance with you. I know I’m just a puppy dog, but this is people stuff. People with long arms and legs. Noses pointed and round. As he said it they became it. They grew up up up and fell down.

Welcome to your human bodies. Welcome to The Dream. In The Dream, this is your body. It’s what you would be, what you will be. But now you are made of clay. You must drink water, more than you think- In order to stay smooth. If you dry up you’ll freeze- and we’ll have to mold you into the mountains. Mountains grow tall made of people. Mountains grow tall made of bones. At the tops are all of the souls. At the tops are all of the souls. Three Trials - and you may keep your form. One dark, one light, and one unknown. Your heart, your mind, and the ego. If you can keep your lover safe. And can prepare yourself to wait. Then to be lost will feel like play And it will all work out okay. “Okay” Lysol “so…” Spot asked “How do we know which way to go?” Automated voice “There’s a path of stones, pressed into the clay. Follow it and you’ll be on your way. Rocks turn to stones. Stone turns to carpet. Carpet to brick, brick might turn to steel. It’s the only path, just keep following.” So they walked, and stones led towards the sand.

The water merged back into sand, and the sand turned to seaglass. As they landed on shore, the seaglass builds into walls and roofs and windows around them. The building stood mighty, though it was made of glass. Until they find themselves in the center of a pristine hotel lobby. One small room holds your next challenge. 3I Good luck making your way through our maze. *instrumental* At the door was a fish with three eyes. Or- three fish with one eye. Lysol said - who are you? We’re looking for- A place. I know. A room. As always, you young people rush through the missions, thinking you’ve learned something. Well. I’m proud to inform you that you’re wrong. You are small shivering body. Locked outside of your mother's house. This is a dream. Me, you, her, all of us. This is one collective consciousness imagining a shared reality. But really- we are cells clamoring together to make something of worth. And you never will be, because no matter how much your body changes. Your soul will still be trapped inside. In it’s little cage, where it thrashes and screams but can never be released. You thought a larger brain would satisfy you? You that hands would give you freedom. That you could run until you found what you don’t know you’re looking for. But you grab at nothing. You hold nothing but the dream of a person, she is not real. You are not real. Where are we? Where are you? You want to be ready to cry, to get lost and found. But this is the truth. This is all nothing. Maybe you’ve never left this room. Where are you- really? This is your dead end. Room 3I was empty. Starkly empty. White with one window. Solid, no glass. No light, but white. There's nothing here. There's no way out. S: Jump, maybe. But there’s more nothing beyond that. I love you I love everything I am love I am nothing I don’t exist S; Wait don’t go- I am in a white room Far away from you Far from me Far from people, places, and things. (s/o kyndall) And all the animals have gone missing. There is so much nothing here I didn’t know nothing was real. Nothing is real Nothing is real Nothing is real Nothing is real. He’s not there. You can look right at someone while they are far away. I don’t like this You’ve made it to the end. This is what it means to be a human person. You are smart enough, to know that nothing matters. Too slow to understand it. That's not the way. The road ends here for the both of you. Spot reached into Lysols hand, and there it was pressed in his clay his spirit. About the size of a chestnut She pressed it into her hand and continued.

And the brick road still goes and goes. And goes. It’s been painful, to be alone. Isolation cuts the worst. My friends my friends my friends It hurts. I love you and I miss you. *instrumental* Once upon a time two teeny tiny dogs wanted to be something. Why? Why? Why? “Coming through!” Other people? Other bodies climb to the top of the clay mountain. a steel tip in the distance. So many empty bodies climbing Human arms, human hands Grab and pull and lift and grab and pull and lift She wanted to shrink, smaller and lighter. Until she was a tiny shaking chihuahua again. As she thought it, she grew down. Eyes wet and black. No, grow up. Grow up grow up. I want to be a human person. I want to feel alive. Each soul lives in a little house here. At the top. If someone is lost along a journey, there is the chance we will give their soul to you. You will have the chance to see them in another place, outside of The Dream.

Much later, or before. Or at the same time As everything happens at once. The future has come and gone and with it went this moment. When Leslie Thompson moved onto Sneed street. On his daily walk, he made sure to stay six feet from other people. But on the corner of Catherine There’s this woman walking too. Someone he’s definitely met before. I’m older now. I learning how to write words sew themselves together into neat lines, four pens arranged in a row. Five fingers I would like to hold your hand.