living in a basement with college roommates. i’m handed a tan and worn leather-bound book.  the pages are rectangular but the cover is a wrap around hard case in the shape of a triangle, like a box for a very large single slice of pie.  the pages are torn out, rearranged, dogeared, censored, corrected, and annotated.  it’s my turn.  the others have had their go at it even though i was just learning of its existence.  i look at the first page.  it is a list of 13 tasks/punishments.  they vary, but mostly involve public humiliation.  i don’t read them closely.  i don’t want anything to do with it, but everyone says that it’s just the way of the world.  when you complete it, you can add to the task list in the book which gave me an unsettling feeling of knowing that these awful things were requested by friends and i was expected to not only do them, but to add my own sadistic ideas for someone else to attempt. i ask if layla has done this yet and they don’t answer.  i think that she has and am disappointed. i try to read the bright blue handwriting in the margins.  they seem to be clues as to how to strategize, but the book is slammed shut and put into a closet for safe keeping.
i go to the grocery store and am in the dairy section. i am looking for milk but notice individual packets of string cheese.  i thrust my hand into the case and pick up one to look at it. i notice that every package has a hole in it, bigger than the width of my finger. and so all of the cheese can be touched, probably has been touched by germy strangers.  also, it’s not string cheese, it’s orange chiclet-shaped pillows of cheese. 4 in a pack.  some of them have picked up moisture from the refrigerated case and are sticking together inside the cellophane. i feel like i have to eat the cheese.  that it will maybe count for one of the listed items in the book.  but i don’t want to and i look for orange juice to drink.  i think that if i drink juice of the same color, it will count as a stand-in for the cheese.