I’m at a concert and don’t have a good seat, so I cut out of the amphitheater to head to the other side. I get turned around on a school campus, wander by some stencil graffiti on a bike trail, and then get directions from strangers. The route sends me to a rustic trail in the woods that winds up at a creek in a deep ravine. As I cross it on a shaky fallen tree, I remember that I’m dreaming and then port myself back to the concert.
Not only do I have a great seat, but there’s a huge swath of open space between me and the stage. Looks like Christine McVie from Fleetwood Mac on stage singing “Happy Birthday” and looks like I’m sitting with my 1990s girlfriend M. M. and I leave the show and head to a house that we think is a toilet facility. We watch a woman approach a stacked pile of objects, picks one up, and then pops it out into a literal portable toilet. M. grabs one and heads into the building.