We are renting an apartment in an old building. There are many rooms, and the doors all swing open unless you carefully shut them. We're there for some kind of meeting. Today we need get things ready.

The fair and industrious Trudy is up already, has taken a shower, is dressed and is cooking something in the kitchen with two neighbors. I guess that's one of the things we're supposed to do for the meeting -- take snacks.

I'm late and hop in the shower in a rush only to realize that I had left a pre-calculus text book (opened) sitting on a pile of other stuff in the tub and it all got wet. I grab the book and try to rescue it, wiping the water off the exposed pages hoping that it didn't soak in. I picture the wrinkled, warped pages that it's bound to have when it dries, and my heart sinks at the futility of trying to dry it off. So I set it down and run to get some clean clothes to take into the bathroom.

In the (tiny) bedroom I get distracted. I make no progress with my clothes, and I am just sitting there on the bed without any clothes on when Trudy and one of the neighbors (a girl) walk in.

I shriek and reach down to cover myself. The girl turns around and leaves quickly. Trudy hands me a photograph. It's a picture of the girl's home. There are Persian carpets on the floor that look just like carpets I grew up with, carpets we have now. I shout, "Wow!" as I look at them. Trudy, thrilled at my response, leaves to tell the girl that I like her carpets.

And now I'm on the phone. I can't seem to start my day. I'm stuck on the phone with my sister-in-law who's talking about something she prepared for the meeting. I can't get off the phone. I need to take a shower. I'm pacing around, dashing between doorways, because I still don't have any clothes on, and the doors keep swinging wide-open.

Now I'm back inside, still on the phone, trying to get some soap for my shower. I can't separate the bars of soap from each other with my one free hand. I pull and try to use my fingers. The soap is stuck to the shelf. I curse at the soap and it breaks free.

Now I'm outside. I have a pair of pants on, but that's it. And I still haven't taken a shower. And I'm still on the phone. This place looks familiar. I think it's the block where my brother lives. Some people walk by. One of them has one of the others on a leash, and the two are dressed in black leather. They cross the street and disappear just as a man walks by me with a big white dog. I reach out to the dog, but it ignores me. The person on the other end of the phone is evidently waiting for me to help set up for the meeting. I'm late, and I haven't take a shower.

Suddenly I realize that I can take a shower in the big bathroom that doesn't have anything in the tub. I turn off the water in the small bathroom.

But now I'm on the back patio, still on the phone. The conversation (finally) ends, and I go inside. There's a salamander on the door. Not a small, black one, but a large, translucent beige one with bulging eyes and muscular legs holding on to the surface of the door and wing-like gills on the side of its head. It watches me as I go back inside. I pull the door shut slowly.

I finally take my shower, and Trudy comes in, having completed all her assigned tasks. She looks at me, clearly wondering why I am only now taking a shower.