Occupied

We own a condo in some resort town, and we’re there checking it out.

As I drive us through the parking lot, you point out that I should be careful, that there’s this turn coming up, and there’s always a guy there sitting in his car.

I say, No, they’ve redone the parking lot, and he’s on the other side now.

As we make the turn, you see I am correct, and ask when they did that.

I say that I’m really not sure, but I was over here a lot for work when they were doing it, whenever the hell that was.

We wonder what’s up with that dude who just sits in the car, staring. I say I don’t know, but he’s always there, like every time. I say he reminds me a bit of that guy from Cool Hand Luke, and you go, No Eyes. And I’m all like, Fuck yeah! No Eyes! That’s right.

After a sec, I go, That dude sucks.

You’re not sure if I mean the guy in the car or No Eyes.

Once we get to the place, I unload our shit and get the keys from the guardhouse and all that jazz. I say I’m going to swing by real quick and make sure the unit is empty, and you can stay with our stuff or come with me.

When I get there, there are people still there: two women. I dunno how old they are. Probably somewhere between 25 and 35.

I say, Hey, I’m T, I’m the owner.

They seem not enthused.

I ask how their stay was, and they say, Not good. Well, one of them says that. The other one is just packing.

I say that I’m sorry to hear that and try to get some information about what might have gone awry, but it not an easy convo.

The one who is talking to me—kind of, anyway—is very guarded with all of her answers and seems upset. I can’t tell if it’s that I am there and they weren’t expecting a visit from the owner; or, if it’s about something that was going on right before I got there.

I switch gears and try to make conversation, ask where they’re from.

At that point they quit talking to me completely.

I sense perhaps they’re scared that to tell a stranger anything personal—even though I can just look it up, but—so I broaden it and say, You know, generally? Like what part of the world?

They don’t say anything, and I start to get the idea that the conversation is over. So I say goodbye and leave.

If you weren’t there, I explain all that and say we’re gonna have to kill some time while they finish packing and vacate.

You say that’s chill. We can go get something to eat.

And I’m like, Word, yes, lawds, let’s do that.

So we do.

Okay, so this is actually part of dream #8, but I think it probably goes better with dream #7 [Ed. a.k.a “Subterranean”] content matching-wise. You tell me.

I’m involved in a film (or perhaps it’s a play) that’s an adaptation of my work. I’m not sure which one, but it feels Secretsverse-y. I don’t actually play myself in it. Too old, I guess. I play a relatively minor character, one I may have made up for the adaptation. And I’m in this romance with this character and we have this kind of abstract scene that depicts our getting together. The actor playing the character reminds me of my sister, which feels a bit weird. But we do okay. The director has notes, of course, and doesn’t really like the blocking of the scene, so we work on that for awhile, while you chat up people on the set.

Play procedures

• You can add the condo to your list of safe places—provided no one is there when you need it. If you want a mechanic for that, let’s say there’s a 20% chance it’s occupied at any given time you want to go there.
• If you want to develop the storyline with the guy in the car, be my guest. Add him to the list, wherever it makes sense. Same with the two women in the condo.
• If you’re keeping a journal and/or doing writing prompts, take a stab at fleshing out the adaptation. No no no, not like a whole script. Just like a treatment or summary or whatever. If you do, and you’re also playing, you may add the script to your inventory.
• You can develop any of the cast or crew on the set. Add them to the list, if you do.