i dreamt that we were anarchist terrorists, or at least that was what the government had decided we were, all over a few dollars missing from the till. i walked out on my job at the Homo Despot with a few rolls of quarters and dimes and suddenly i was on America’s Most Wanted. but no one watched TV anymore, because there were screens everywhere, even in their pockets. we all had a little tag that was supposed to be what we used to pay for things, but it also ended up being a tracking device, and when i trespassed against the corporation i was on the police state’s shitlist, for sure. i kept trying to tamper with my tag so that i would be able to go places without being noticed and apprehended, but i could never be sure what doorways were traps and so i had to stay outside a lot.  at one point we had kidnapped someone (who went with us willingly, but what could they understand of that?) and we were on a ferry, agents all around us in dangerous black trenchcoats (we had our hoodies, army of the young with our found object lives), hands on guns in holsters while all i had was my pen and paper burning a hole in my back pocket. the space needle somehow ejaculated itself from its skyline roost onto the top of the ferry and somehow that was supposed to either save us or stop us, i couldn’t tell which. we escaped by crawling into its belly and changing into brightly printed mumus, hidden in the bedroom of my lover’s father, who was out for some sort of errand and expected to meet his son’s lover, but not this way. needless to say, he was a little bit upset that we were all wearing his clothes when he returned, and there was a debate over whether or not we were welcome for lunch, or the corresponding tea and cookies afterwards. such is the price of freedom sometimes.


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